


The Beast Within

by KuuraKaihomieli



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alien Biology, Angst, Beast Island (She-Ra), Canon Rewrite, Depression, Dominant Hordak, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Masturbation, Pining, Religious Conflict, Shakespearean Hordak
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28771932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuuraKaihomieli/pseuds/KuuraKaihomieli
Summary: The portal opened, the signal to Horde Prime was unleashed into the universe beyond Despondos, and Entrapta vanished from the Fright Zone. Now, Hordak wages a bloody war against the Princess Alliance, and spirals deeper into the darkness of his mind and the desperate longing for the Princess that betrayed him. However, battle after battle passes without him catching even a glimpse of Entrapta and her inventions. Something seems wrong with this scenario. Where is she? Did she actually betray him?Follows Season 4 to an extent, although canon-divergent.
Relationships: Entrapta/Hordak (She-Ra)
Comments: 46
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is partially based on the ideas of [Alexology](https://alexology.art/), with input from [Mazen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazen/pseuds/Mazen). It’s a sequel to [Portal Experiments](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26935147/chapters/65736157). It might work as an independent piece as well, if one assumes that Hordak and Entrapta shared a relationship, albeit a brief one, before the portal opened, and that Hordak experienced a difficult crisis of conscience over his God, Horde Prime. The narrative is darker in tone than that of Portal Experiments. I haven’t done any world-building for about a decade, and restarted fiction writing after a break of many years only recently as well, so please be gentle!

Cold rain lashed down upon a bleak, treeless expanse of drab hues and howling wind. To the south, the uniform slate sky merged with a veil of fog. Somewhere much farther to that very direction, whitecaps crested an unruly sea, gales whipping salty spume hither and thither. To the west, the hazy outline of distant mountains loomed over the stretching moorlands, dotted by splotches of forests where the terrain grew richer and less boggy. Ancient, overgrown roads crisscrossed the landscape, on occasion plunging out of the low shrub, cracked flagstones stuck in fragmented memories of times bygone, leading nowhere. The occasional husk of a drystone building greeted these relics amid the desolation.

Towards the north, modest farms gradually claimed the highlands. Small flocks of livestock grazed the open too arid for growing most crops. Here, the ancient roads were maintained, shattered flagstones repaired and the cracks weeded. Villages grew in size and population the more one advanced towards the southern edge of the Whispering Woods, houses changing from thatched drystone cottages into studier, multi-storey complexes. Further towards Plumeria, the land descended and the vegetation exploded, cultivated by a proliferation of magic and a warmer climate.

So it had continued perhaps for centuries upon the high moors: The howl of winds and the hiss of rain the perpetual sounds, interrupted by the occasional hoot or chitter of a small animal, or the pervasive buzz of insects during the warmer months. 

Now, something had disrupted this age-old quietude. The roar of uncountable engines and the creak of metal drowned the lamentations of the restless winds. A great, dark wound stretched across the hilly terrain: bracken and shrubs had been uprooted together with loose rocks and remnants of bygone cultures so obscure that only tiny fragments remained of their heydays. All this had been churned and hewn into black, noxious slop by the caterpillars of tanks and deep-sinking legs of warbots, not counting the hefty boots of the infantry marching on, marching on… Where small, outlying villages had lain, rain now drenched the blackened shells of cottages, tiny kitchen gardens uprooted for anything edible, before even they vanished utterly into the sucking mire. 

Waterlogged, raggedy banners hung over the great body of war, depicting a red insignia of jagged wings glaring against a black background. On and on the destructive mass roiled, appropriating land to its own uses as it advanced. 

As the days dragged by, the bruise in the landscape elongated, and the lathering rain gave way to an icy, pervasive mizzle. In the meanwhile, the devastated dwellings grew in size, and drystone walls and maintained sections of primitive roads sunk into the churned-up mud. Thus the Etherian Horde progressed towards the north, sowing death and fire in its wake. Smoldering villages, cattle appropriated for food, metal and other precious substances seized... 

* * *

“ENTRRRRAPTA! Step forth and surrender to me!”

A broad-shouldered, gray silhouette towered on the edge of an outcrop behind a thick haze woven of drizzle, spiraling smoke, and drifting ashes. Its stance was coiled and predatory, and something unnatural covered its right forearm, the location of a hand replaced by a red maw leading into a raging inferno. Screams, the crackle of burning timber, and crashes from collapsing buildings permeated the air. Somehow that single shout yet pierced the clamor, as the deep, feral timbre echoed over the town of Blackmoor. Furthermore, that one gateway into the essence of fire was not quite enough: The eyes and mouth of the figure burned crimson through the veil of smog, a demonic leer of vehemence and hunger stretching its features. A gust of wind lifted up its long, high-collared cloak, making it billow ominously behind the imposing height of over seven feet. 

No answer greeted the figure. The carcasses of burning domiciles and workshops spread out far beneath; another Alliance dependency nearly vanquished in its quest for the utter subjugation of Etheria. The figure raised its arm, and the hellhole replacing the hand appeared to distort existence itself as it spat forth a storm of annihilation.

As if that discharge had been a signal, the army anticipant behind the monster leapt into action, rushing downhill and ever onwards, flowing over the ruined ramparts of the town. The infantry ran, troopers speeded onwards riding armed skiffs, the entire mass flanked on either side by bots clattering forwards. Somewhere behind the soldiers, upon trampled pastures and fields, sprawled the cooling, immobile bodies of Alliance fighters and sorcerers. Glassy eyes stared at the mire or the slate clouds above, hopes and fears alike lost into oblivion, as death reaped their souls. The groans and screams of the wounded vanished into the roar of the army, unheeded. Above, dark shapes circled the carnage, spiraling lower and lower, and finally descended to feast on the mangled flesh. 

Hordak slid through the skeleton of a gateway in the former ramparts, and bounded onto the cobbles of the thoroughfare. A rumble of mocking glee escaped his throat. Oh, what utter fools the Alliance witches had been again! Forfeiting the evacuation of a town under imminent attack, its ramparts unmaintained and melting akin to snow in the beam of his arm cannon. Whatever had coursed through their mental pathways had lacked tactics, and had relied too much on the supremacy of their sorcery. Granted, many armed fighters and sellswords had amassed against the Horde upon a stretch of moor past the fields. In sooth, he had to commend the skills of some of those that his weapon had vaporized or his claws torn into shreds. Yet overall...what a pathetic display of contemptible planning and underreckoning his forces. 

As the Horde had trundled its way through the Alliance lines, the Princesses had ultimately decided to begin the evacuation. A hasty and chaotic operation by the looks of it; hysterical inhabitants rushing to the riverfront to fill boats, bridges across the river becoming clogged up, less fortunate creatures becoming trampled underfoot or left behind… Streets littered with discarded possessions, catching fire as burning walls collapsed upon them...

As the Warlord ramped onwards, he could not help deliberating whether this seeming ease might be an ingenious ruse after all. Mayhap their brunt would strike the northern perimeter of the Horde territory to reclaim some strategic tract? Yet...no. No theatrics pertained to this sloppy mess; those were actual civilians stampeding away. Besides, for the Horde, affixing the waterfront and the river delta around Castle Blackmoor remained essential. 

Now...where was that  _ one particular Princess _ he so desired to confront? Another battle raged on, and not a strand of her lavender hair flicked in sight. Well, he would keep a watchful eye on every alleyway and rooftop not yet devastated.  _ This time _ he would challenge her in the open, and she would finally yield! 

The Warlord leapt over an obstruction of debris and continued along the street, his cloak flying behind him like a sinister, raggedy wight risen from one of the moorland barrows. Flames licked at the ruined buildings on either side, the open waterfront finally within view from this lower perspective. 

A net snapped at him to his left, and he dodged, destroying it with one quick reload of his cannon. The blast itself was too potent to die against the magic, and it continued its devastating journey towards the docks. Buildings cracked and exploded as it rammed its way through rock and wood, splinters and entire cornerstones speeding through the air at its wake. 

Hordak let loose an outburst of hoarse mirth, his fangs bared into a bestial rictus. The armor granted him the strength and agility of his heydays, when the withered arms beneath the plates had been full and fraught with vigor, his shoulders broad and straining against any fabric. His stamina did not fail, and his heart hammered with renewed strength, the electric impulses generated by the power source steadying the rhythm even in the sultriest heat of action. 

“ENTRRRAPTA! Wherefore do you ensconce yourself thus?” he bellowed. “Emerge and behold the warcraft I have mastered! Rest your eyes upon the potency of my sleek weapon; this utmost vigor afore which many a galaxy would grovel!”

Another dodge, another weave. From the corner of his eye he spotted a group of Alliance soldiers speeding towards him from the mouth of an alleyway. Slow and insignificant they seemed before his great bulk and height, as he, unexpectedly, spun towards them and attacked. 

Long claws slashed, tearing through flesh and armor alike, the metal of the cannon crunching against something as he hit with the full force of his right arm. Indistinct figures screamed and fled and collapsed; blood and nameless tubes splattered onto the ground and upon his robe. He was unvanquishable; the fulminating reaper that presaged the descendance of his God into this wretched arse of the multiverse! 

Horde soldiers surged past him, weapons ready to spit a fatal hailstorm upon anyone daring to oppose them. An unnatural gust of wind ruffled his hair and lifted up the front flap of his robe: Another net shimmered in the air, ready to trap the advancing soldiers now struggling against the almost solid wall of air. The Warlord twisted, and another blast issued forth from the fierce maw of his cannon. He felt the deep thrum of the weapon vibrating through his entire essence, and reveled in the sensation. The mighty beat of a war-drum within him, the heat of raw battle coursing through his veins...

The combined magic of the Princesses disintegrated again. He spotted one standing at the very end of the street, where the sprawl of houses abruptly terminated into a stone-lined riverbank. He grinned toothily, as the incantation in her hands deflated, a fearful expression contorting her face. He raised his cannon towards her, and she bounced into the air and took flight, letting a glowing net pluck her away and over the frothing river. 

As a last, desperate attempt at defending the other side of the town where civilians had rushed en masse, shimmering nets wound around the nearest bridges, and yanked. Stone and wood cracked, and the structures collapsed into the wine-dark depths. 

Hah, as if that would prevent his flying vehicles from reaching the other side… What a foolish, pathetic manoeuvre, indeed. 

“CHAAAAARGE!” Hordak roared, and a company of soldiers riding armed skiffs zoomed past him, their outlines hazing as they stormed towards the mist-shrouded buildings on the other side of the river. Destroyer bots pursued, and another thicket of Horde strength headed for the intact bridges further to the east. Therewith, he let his cannon sing, obliterating enemies and buildings alike. 

They had already triumphed in this battle. 

* * *

Sometime later, the fire coursing through Hordak’s veins had faded. Even though his legs ached from leaping and running whichever way, he had decided to promenade through parts of the devastation and the military encampment further to the south, admiring his own handiwork. The Horde had secured an important tactical location today, increment by increment paving way for the massive operation regarding the wilder highland moors already annexed to Hordak’s dominion. The shells of collapsed buildings would be bulldozed away, and replaced with more functional complexes.

Darkness had descended by the time the Warlord reached the campsite. Miasmal drizzle hung in the shafts of the cadaverous yellow floodlights positioned all about, and with every other step, his sabatons sunk into the omnipresent, squelching mud. Heavy vehicles had furrowed deep tracks within, rank water had pooled into them, and now reflected the pale light as ripples. Outside the walls, prisoners of war were herded into temporary shelters, loot hauled back from the town and catalogued, broken vehicles and bots repaired. Within, soldiers returning from the field prepared for a night’s rest, wounded were tended to, greetings were exchanged. Smells of ration bars and other sustenances cooking wafted through the air, mingled by whiffs of sweat and other bodily odors. Horde soldiers laughed, boasted, and racked their accomplishments.

Oh, and Hordak himself… Indeed, Horde Prime would award him with glory and lauds, once He cast His holy regard upon the fruits of His erstwhile General’s conquests. After all, the portal had opened, the signal had been broadcast into the maze of dimensions outside Despondos, and his God’s emersion had become imminent. Oh, he had faltered in his devotion, mesmerized by that siren that had ultimately deceived him. Yet he had repented, praying night and day for exculpation. He, such a weak servant, had sinned and almost chosen a mortal over his Creator. Now, he would refill his quondam position as the Right Hand of his God, pardoned and purified, elevated into the numinous illuminance of His heavenly fire! 

And yet, the Warlord felt...ashamed and malcontent, as he truly attempted to envision himself basking in such high honor. Deep down he recognized he was  _ anything but _ liberated from the shackles of defilement and incandescent lust, his penance never entirely heartfelt...

And-

A frown creased his brow, as his regard shifted from the rows of field tents to the general direction of Castle Blackmoor.  _ Where was Entrapta lurking? _ Hordak had waged war in the front lines for two months now, propelling the perimeter of his empire ever farther into the regions of the Princess Alliance. Upon every fresh encounter with his enemies, upon every minor clash, he expected her to emerge from the ranks of Alliance soldiers, proud and cackling in that delightfully manic fashion, clad from head to toe in weaponized armor, pigtails wielding a battery of their own. He had thwarted the attacks or crushed the defenses of every other Princess thus far, and on multiple occasions at that. Yet where was Entrapta? 

The headway the Horde had gained... A nagging sound in the far reaches of his awareness kept insisting that everything manifested itself as  _ too effortless _ , considering how the adversaries wielded both magic and possessed the ingenuity of feasibly the most intelligent being he had ever encountered outside the hallowed omnipotence of his God.  __

The Warlord sloshed onwards, the slippery mud uttering nearly obscene sucking noises beneath his sabatons. Akin to the sounds of false kisses from her lips… Was she too mortified to present herself before him after that treachery? Too cowardly after first convincing him of her profound feelings for him, bewailing about her solitude, and hence rendering him to devote his very essence to her? That cunning seductress, how she had befooled him… 

After every battle, after every foiled engagement, the same questions spun about Hordak’s head. A recurring deja-vu also pertained to the lack of advanced weaponry. Could she perchance be biding her time, and scheming to unleash some mass-attack consisting of magic-powered superbots and the most fatal incantations the witches of the Alliance might muster? Mayhap, one hapless morn, the Alliance would crunch him and his empire into a wet smear with a single strike. 

Well...mayhap not; yet he could not eject the ill notion from his mind either.

Nevertheless, this dearth of... _ anything _ remained bewildering. He had detected a small spike in the development of the Alliance’s technological resources while designing his cannon. Then...nothing that would indicate the contributions of a genius. Before immersing into the portal research, the Princess had expressed such keenness to test her new designs out in the open, their very firepower and stamina trialed against She-Ra and her cohorts. 

Well. Force Captain Catra had devised a design to plant a spy among the cadre of the Princess Alliance, and apparently had acquired a suitable candidate for the position. Mayhap then he might become a mite wiser about Entrapta’s machinations...

The outlines of the standard-issue tents stood closer now, as the Warlord approached the orderly rows dividing the encampment into multiple sectors. Soldiers strolling past saluted him, some pointing at the arm cannon and mimicking his combat movements with mirth. An almost smug smirk spread on his face at this vulgar praise. Yet a darker part of him recognized that he was nigh-on pathetically yearning for any scraps of validation someone might throw at him out of pity, as Entrapta had yet again dodged an encounter. Only her round-eyed awe at him and his mighty weapon truly mattered, when he ultimately locked gazes with her upon the battlefield. 

That...and the recognition of Horde Prime. Yet surely when he presented this planet, pregnant with mighty resources to feed the factories of the Galactic Horde, as a token of fidelity to Him, he would become worthy in the just, yet demanding gaze of his God? Even when he might not...consecrate himself  _ entirely _ to Him in every thought and deed?

Hordak could rarely mull over Entrapta and his God in the same context. His contradictory, volatile mind tended to expel one out of his awareness when his concentration lingered on the other. Now, his train of thought reversed course and clattered towards the Princess. 

Hrrrmmh…oh, how he would savor Entrapta’s reaction, verily! Her lofty, traitorous demeanor would transform into sheer thrill, as he wielded the monolithic cannon; the broad, stout weapon vibrating around his arm as it shot forth a potent beam of the utmost devastation, and reloaded in an instant. Indeed, she would never have espied anything comparable that oozed such blatant, virile masculinity; an allegory of his stalwart manhood expectant for her behind his robe! A beauteous flush would crawl upon her cheeks, as she recalled the might of him within her wet, tight core, filling her to the very brim akin to nothing else this puny planet might offer! 

Hordak chuckled throatily at the figment, his eyes narrowing and appearing to glow just a hint brighter. 

Would she...mmhhh...grow moist at the sheer sight of his technological and priapic prowess? Heated nectar trickling down into her undergarments, soaking through them, as her arousal compounded… Nectar for him to taste as he claimed her, first with the very tip of his tongue, then thrusting it deeper- Mmrrhh...

Something wet and icy splashed against his bare scalp, and dribbled down the side of his visage. Another one followed, making him wince and lose the thread of his titillating musings. Eyes drawn into furious slits, he glared up and about to discover the perpetrator. However, it seemed that he was attempting to challenge the very elements: Sleet had begun to plummet down towards the ground as large, sodden rags. 

Well. Not that the solider forms of hydrogen oxide much bothered him as such. His hardy species tolerated a far greater spectrum of temperatures than the common Etherian; even now he stomped onwards with his flanks and thighs bare, whereas most of the soldiers had donned extra woollen layers beneath their armor. Nevertheless, he felt like snarling at the bloody weather for thus dispelling the beauteous vision of Entrapta from his awareness. A pleasant heat had begun to build up in his loins at the notion of tasting her liquid rapture, and-

He grumbled under his breath. Well, he could shape fantastic narratives about her later in his own premises. Perhaps they would aid him surmount the discontentment of failing to meet her yet again. 

That, and...well… 

In truth, he had never ceased loving her or lusting after her, in spite of his anger flaring at that vicious perfidy. Oh, even if he prevailed against the entire Alliance and terminated all the other Princesses, he would spare her. Nothing in his plans had ever appertained to maiming or destroying her to begin with; she represented something too capable and dear to him. No matter how he attempted to convince his languishing heart that he had been but a throwaway plaything for her, it would not heed reason. A pathetic, gullible fool he had been, destitute of defense afore her voluptuous curves and all those cajoling words bolstering his frayed confidence. When his imperfections had been beautiful, he had unfolded his knowledge of the multiverse even more extensively to her, feeding her seemingly genuine curiosity with schematics of technologies unseen upon Etheria, ravenous for her affection and presence. 

Even so, he clung with fangs and claws to the ashen shadow of this love lost, a bliss unreplicatable bereaved from him. Indeed, even greater a treasure than the celestial delights his God might offer...

Hordak’s heart lurched painfully in his chest, as he reached a narrow, straight alley between the tents. He was aware of yet another hour, when his mood first crested a mountaintop during one moment and then an instant later, plummeted down to wallow in the murkiest, most brackish waters of a bog. This volatility had worsened as of late. He had unearthed no remedy that might alleviate it, apart from indulging in his lurid illusions of Entrapta, or retracing the few, sweet moments they had shared together. 

The day had proved a roaring victory for the Horde, and here he was...nigh-on sniveling again over the single mortal he had ever cherished besides Imp. Wherefore had she committed such treason? By the sacred light-throne of Prime, was he not bloody well at least entitled to an expounding from those tempting yet deceitful lips of hers?

And, as the utmost culmination to everything...wherefore could he not  _ bloody well forget about her _ ? Oh, how he had attempted...from the initial bidding to the former Force Captain Scorpia to dispose of all her belongings, to assaying to shove every depiction of her that his brain concocted into the most abysmal reaches of an impenetrably dark oblivion. The latter had never worked, so he had halted, and thus weltered in the blasphemous habit of stoking the fantasies instead. 

Nothing had furnished his mind with the callous indifference required to forget. Too precious, too dear she remained to him...

And again...mayhap he hankered to hear her voice upon the field of tempests more than any answers to her unfaithworthiness; that high-pitched and slightly nasal twang, yet so adorable... Behold her sultry form, the spark of cunning intelligence in her effulgent gaze…at least  _ once _ ...

Had...had  _ he _ caused this? Had  _ he _ hindered her from attaining something he had more or less consciously pledged upon her, and therefore left? There was something he could not quite recall related to this very notion; something that fleeted through his mind like a ghost, yet which he could never catch. Why-

“Oh, did you damn well see Lord Hordak in the front lines today? Wha’ a bloody sight!” a gravelly voice intoned somewhere beyond Hordak’s field of vision.

Someone else erupted into hoarse laughter. “The way that weapon of his...just...blam! Half a village gone wi’ a single blast. Well...maybe not that much, but ye get me meaning.”

The Warlord halted in his tracks and cocked an ear. A gaggle of scruffy soldiers were sharing a joint on a small clearing between the tents, the miry ground now partially blanketed in fast-melting whiteness. Judging by the mud-splattered armor, they had barely returned from the battlefield. He remained standing concealed in the shadow of a canvas, the wan ghost of a smile returning to his lips. 

Again, something in the deepest reaches of him pined to nibble on any extolment,  _ anything _ to counter his misfortune regarding Entrapta. Well… He needed not to hasten anywhere yet, and surely could linger here for a smidgen to sample some of his soldiers’ adoration. Besides, his fatigued legs screamed for a respite, the immense weight of the cannon straining the right side of his body further. He had discovered that the sleet did not bother him much after the first vexatious surprise either.

“Still didn’t catch that fucking li’l traitor, though,” a third voice harrumphed somewhere out of sight. A puff of pungent smoke drifted into the sleet, briefly merging with the drab mist hanging upon the camp. 

A line creased Hordak’s forehead. What-

The second person cackled again, a malignant undercurrent in their mirth. “Bound to be soon! Can’t hide forever! But, yeah, wha’ do ye reckon if we caught the wee birdie on a mission, as if by...happenstance? Ye know? Think we’d get rewarded for returnin’ her?”

“Ha! We’d get rewarded  _ twice _ ! He wants her alive, but...just how  _ much _ alive? Fuckin’ little bitch, she needs to learn a lesson for double-crossing us!”

A chorus of laughter pursued, and a fourth, high-pitched tone chimed in. “Eh? Whatcha thinkin’? We could...share her for a couple o’ days before reporting in? A fuckin’ traitor, yeah, but a delicious one at that. Big tits and hips. I’d like me some of that tight li’l cunt of hers.”

“Get rid of that bloody damn hair first, tho’. Wossname...eldritch. Damn black magic of the Princesses. Cut it off and burn the lot-”

Hordak’s smirk died, as he heeded the chatter turning ever more repellent, the depictions of abuse more graphic. He stared at his broad-shouldered shadow delineated against the adjacent tent fabric, his lips slowly retracting into a rictus of a snarl. 

Something snapped within the Warlord. Nobody,  _ nobody _ was going to hurt Entrapta. Never.  _ Not ever.  _ She belonged to  _ him _ , and  _ him alone _ . His vision dimmed at the edges, the voices of the gathering turning into an unintelligible susurrus in his ears, as something grim and nameless reared in the dark netherworlds of his mind. The creature appeared somehow formless, shifting and surging like impenetrable black smoke, yet at the same time seemingly bristled with jagged claws and uncountable rows of ferine fangs. 

Hordak was dimly aware of an inhuman growl echoing through the campsite, just about cognizant of his sabatons sinking deep into a quaggy pool as he found his great weight landing to the other side of the tents after a long leap. Through a red mist, he beheld brief fragments of terror etched upon faces, as if glancing at other people’s reflections in a fractured mirror. Screams, claws slashing and slicing through something solid...snapping and popping noises emerging from somewhere as his fervent hand wrung and his jaws clamped around something, a metallic taste of heated liquid filling his mouth-

He awoke to someone sobbing hysterically by his feet, and something nearly unrecognizable for a Horde soldier dangling from his hand. Uncomprehending, he stared for a moment at a sprawl of severed limbs upon the ground, life leaking away from lacerated wounds and riven flesh into the admixture of soiled sleet and umber mire. Next to a pale hand rested a head separated from its body. An expression of surprise was impressed upon its features, as it lay half submerged in a cold pool, akin to a waxy mask topped with bedraggled hair. Brown, immovable eyes were fixed into the mist drifting above the tents, mire sploshed upon the lips almost about to utter something...

Hordak’s gaze slowly shifted back to the stump of a neck in the grasp of his enormous hand. Bone protruded from the ragged flesh, and blood gushed forth from a torn artery. Another figure straggled by his plated shins, twitching, arms and legs twisted into nauseating angles. 

Hot fluid was trickling down his chin. Grimacing, he dragged his tongue along the lower jaw, encountering the same flavor of iron as in his mouth. 

Blood. With that, the recollection of the previous, lucid moment returned. The ferocious grimace returned to his visage, freshly spilt essence of life coating his massive fangs. By the sacred heaven-vaults of- These execrable pieces of excrement had been contriving to desecrate Entrapta. In his blind wrath, he had apparently clawed through and bitten into the flesh of this rancid filth, not to mention-

“What’s going on here?” an authoritative voice barked somewhere behind him, the squelch of mud hailing fast-approaching footsteps. The Warlord turned about, unceasing to squeeze the mangled neck of the dead Horde soldier in his grasp. 

The magnitude of carnage on the small clearing and its effects on the immediate surroundings dawned fully on Hordak, as the Force Captain and her reinforcements slid to a halt. Her eyes widened beneath the rim of her helmet, as she hastily sketched a salute. Curious faces peered at them through gaps between the rows of tents, some gawking, some whispering to one another. Hordak had mauled at least four creatures, some still clinging to life. One or two indistinct figures were crouching over the bodies, desperate in their attempts to revive something that had already journeyed on into a different existence. 

“Force Captain Octavia,” he addressed the officer before she could exclaim anything else. His far-carrying voice was as smooth as the finest silk, yet laced with a dangerous purr. “I have...demonstrated what shall come to pass to those who would violate Princess Entrapta. A traitor, one presumes, yet it is  _ I _ to whom she belongs, whether amid the clash of battle or otherwise as a captive.” He elevated the carcass in his grasp for every eye to behold. 

“If anyone should detain her outside my immediate presence, you will deliver her to me unharmed, untainted, and accordingly receive ample rewards. Elsewise...I shall skin the perpetrators alive and feast upon their raw flesh.” Well...he had already manifested the force of his blind wrath, hence there was no harm in pouring excess drama into his threats. “Force Captain, clear this...mess with the aid of field medics and confine the rest. Dismissed.” 

A gust of wind whipped up his ragged cloak, as he, bloodstained from head to foot, sloshed off into the gloom past the silent spectators. A few tent-rows apart, he dug out a handkerchief from a cloak pocket, spat out whatever shreds of raw flesh and arterial blood yet clung to his mouth, and wiped his face as clean as he might. Bathing properly while dwelling in the camp had proved cumbersome for his condition, and he had to resort to damp wipes or toweling as often as possible. 

The previous time he had led multitudes into direct warfare had occurred eons ago, in a different universe and while equipped with a haler body demanding no assistive cybernetics. Therefore, all the minutiae concerning his own necessities had not reared their heads before he had departed the Fright Zone. Half a day spent in a plain tent had been quite enough, when the spare generator providing electricity to his medical cooling unit and the more portable assistive devices clogging up the insides of the tiny canvas room had sputtered and died in the middle of the night. After that, he had converted one of the larger aircrafts for his personal lodgings. 

His visage soon set into a deep frown, as he headed to the very direction. The mist seemed to be thickening towards the northern side of the encampment: White, tattered wraiths hung in the air amid the sleet, akin to the shadows of battle-weary souls fading into the darklands. 

He had to...devise something to prevent any of this from materializing again; a novel approach to his entire rulership, perhaps. He had… Well. He had always observed the internal conflicts and hungering for power amid his underlings to a reasonable extent, Shadow Weaver’s connivery among some of the latest. Most of the scheming had not influenced him or his immediate perimeter so far. He had been an umbrageous beast brooding in the core of the dominion, surrounded by unfathomable technology not serving the petty plots of those incapable of apprehending the broader multiverse beyond this dumpsite.

Except for Entrapta. Ah, the single person ever to comprehend him… That had been no illusion, no matter how unfathomable the depths of her treachery.

Yet another echo of months bygone was interrupted, as a small figure landed upon the broad shoulder of his cloak, claws digging into the stiffened fabric. Hordak lifted a begored hand to tickle Imp absently beneath the chin. The little creature chittered with content, and as Hordak’s claws ruffled his tuft of hair, he mimicked his father figure a mite quizzically, brushing sodden strands of hair from Hordak’s eyes to one side. The Warlord had foregone cutting it, wearing it longer these days and brushed to one side, instead of the severe military backslick. 

Akin to how the Princess had enjoyed it the most, complimenting him on his appearance with a breathy giggle… Oh, that sensation of her threading her tiny fingers through it, while planting soft kisses upon his scalp...

“I have a mission for you, my little spy,” Hordak growled under his breath. “I believe you bore witness to that which befell upon the clearing mere instants ago?”

Imp hissed, his lips retracting into a grim snarl displaying needle-sharp fangs, reminiscent of his creator. 

“Splendid. I urge you to pay heed to any rumors or scraps of exchange you might uncover; anything the subject of which refers to Princess Entrapta. I shall not attest to a single case of collusion against her without confronting myself those lowly worms and their obscene minds. Hasten back to me upon any such discoveries.”

With an affirmative little squeak, Imp sprang off from his shoulder and lofted away into the hazy crepuscularity. 

Well. Word about Hordak’s gory admonition would spread akin to wildfire around the camp, rumor-mills churning incessantly. Nonetheless, if such repugnant discourse had eluded his ears before this, somewhere within the viler ranks such plague would continue festering no matter what. 

Therewith, the course of his mental stream veered back to  _ other _ feasible schemes. 

He had...exposed himself in a manner before unseen by claiming the front lines. Oh, he faced the enemy without well-nigh every day, yet the enemy  _ within _ might scrutinize him in a thirstier manner now as well. The very same pestilence that sought to befoul  _ her _ might attack  _ him _ due to a variety of reasons: vengeance, usurpation, to revel in his downfall…not omitting Catra’s fickle behavior. Oh, she had proven her worth as his second-in-command, yet he could neither ignore that assault on him nor the infidelity regarding the escape of Shadow Weaver. 

Perchance he required a cadre or a bodyguarding unit of his own, composed of his eldest and most trustworthy Force Captains. 

Hordak approached his ship wedged between some officer tents. The encampment was of a square layout, with sturdy, self-assembling walls surrounding the orderly rows of temporary dwellings. Pickets and bots were stationed upon the battlements. As the Horde marched onwards and conquered new terrain, such camps were constructed according to the same principles; a quick routine operation aided by automatically assembling structures and digger bots. Supplemental wards were stationed outwith, both around the border zone and further away, now in particular as prisoners of war were huddling in their shelters. One could never bestow too much effort on vigilance, when the enemy meddled with magic. In spite of the ludicrous display of ineptitude today, sneak attacks might still come to pass. 

And, the bloodthirsty fiend might just as well emerge from his own army...

A guard saluted the Warlord upon his emergence from the camp proper, and he ascended the few steps into his General’s domiciliation. Indeed...perhaps he ought to summon two or three Force Captains to converse matters in private on the very night. Grizzlor, Octavia, perchance Mantenna from another camp... Leech? No. Solid yet too impulsive; Hordak required brawn as much as common sense. Mosquitor and Cobalt were overseeing affairs back in the Fright Zone, and he could not relinquish the center of the dominion entirely to Catra either. 

Hmm…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment. All of your lovely feedback keeps my inspiration flowing!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heartbroken and full of rage, Hordak experiences deep mental turmoil, and quickly shifts from one extreme emotion to another as a consequence, much more so than in his regular, self-doubting state. I will explain in the upcoming chapters in more detail as to what happened with the portal opening; I had to change the canon storyline a bit to fit this narrative.

After some washing, a change of raiment, and wolfing down necessary sustenance, Hordak plonked himself down upon a settee in his private chambers. Even if such hedonistic frivolities had not belonged to his outlook before meeting the Princess, he had grown too attached to the modicum of comfort they offered to dispose of them entirely after her treachery. Messages had been delivered to Force Captains Octavia and Grizzlor, commanding them to assemble in the former cockpit of the vessel a while later. 

Now, he leaned back against the cushions, and attempted to abolish the revolting oral excrement of the butchered soldiers from his mind. He could not quite fathom what that...amorphous darkness subduing his higher mind had been. Yet...mayhap he ought not to dwell on that for protracted moments either. It was however somewhat disconcerting that he could not recall in unclouded detail as to how he had attacked the noxious scum. Did something...alike happen in the heat of battle on occasion? It-

Bah. Enough of that was bloody well enough. With a grunt, Hordak shoved all the grim contemplations into the farthest abysses of his subconsciousness, and summoned Entrapta’s pulchritudinous face into his perception instead. Perhaps the lambent memory of her beauty would keep the disgusting experience at bay at least for a while. 

Oh, how many times had he relived those few instances of heavenly bliss he and the Princess had shared together, before that dangerous tempress had defected? Tens, perchance hundreds of times… Ah, those weeks… How they had flown onwards in a haze of warm, kissable flesh everywhere, her sweet whimpers and moans of pleasure a nigh incessant melody in his ears. He had discharged all the repressed love and desire of many months into her, bestowing everything upon her, while he yet believed she was responding to him just as ardently. Mmh...him slowly fondling her limber, soft little form, discovering those secret sites of profound pleasure again and again with his tongue and shaft and other means more originative… 

Afterwards, when he had comprehended that he could perhaps never scrub away those moments from his mental canvas, his creative mind had begun weaving the recollections into evermore notional fantasies, coalescing into lurid battlefield scenes of her surrendering and thereafter submitting to him in the throes of resplendent pleasure. She never expressed fear or timidness; in his fantasies she always postured before him as the powerful monarch of Dryl, teasing and lofty of demeanor.

The Warlord adopted a more comfortable position and closed his eyes, coaxing the mental image of Entrapta to become ever vivider and solider. Mmmh...that lissome little thing, eyes hooded and a sultry smile upon her lips, soft curves ready to be caressed by his long tongue... He could nearly have reached out to that delectable body and...mmmhh... 

His thin mouth arched into a small simper, as the course of his cerebration swerved to prospect the moment when he would encounter his sweet Princess, albeit a perfidious siren, in the smoldering heat of warfare. Mmmh...that would occur tomorrow, or at least within a couple of days. Most assuredly, indeed. 

Hmh, yes… They might not be stationed close enough yet, however somewhen, the mighty Etherian Horde would be advancing towards the Whispering Woods. His eminent figure would stomp at the very helm, his artfully torn cloak rippling behind him as he blasted villages and enemies into oblivion with the forcible firestorm issuing from the maw of his mighty cannon. Then... _ she _ would emerge from beyond the crest of a hillock, riding a purple robotic steed reminiscent of She-Ra’s unicorny stallion and surrounded by an army of destroyer bots. Haughty, crowned with the jewels of Dryl, her silken hair and olive skin aglow in a shaft of sunlight, glee in her sharp gaze… The mane and tail of the steed, formed of multicolored, pastel cables, would billow in the wind, the magenta crystal embedded into her crown a dazzling star even in the refulgent sunlight. 

Oh, he had already relished the idea of her growing moist at the sheer sight of his monumental, vibrating cannon, and verily she would recall that nothing else could sate her as  _ he _ might, his puissant manhood conquering  _ all of her _ … Hordak felt a heat building up in his loins, his shaft stirring awake beneath his robe. He brushed aside the fabric and released the long, thick member from the restraints of his underwear, beginning to stroke the length up and down, digits lingering on the sensitive head. 

Saturated images of the Princess flooded his mind, every color and shape more intense than reality would allow. Her garments would strain to contain her lush curves; flimsy vestments appearing almost diaphanous as she rode onwards. Her darker nipples would peak against the textile in the cool morning air, while the outline of her soft belly curved beneath, a hint of navel and perchance just a dash of short lavender hair visible even further below. Mmh, what a succulent sight for his hungry eyes after half a year of excruciating anticipation! 

Oh, how her awe would compound, as he demolished her bots one by one with quick flicks of his cannon, leaving her surrounded by a sea of smoldering metal and spiraling sparks, the steed a molten lump upon the ground now. Still, she would taunt and tease him over the crackle of fire, undaunted, rallying him to prove his potency to her. After all, she might not have left him, if he had demonstrated his prowess as an intergalactic Warlord better to her. She would spring away from the wreckage and flee into the woods behind, glancing every now and then over her shoulder to verify whether he chased her or not. 

Indeed! He would crash and barge through the undergrowth, while she nimbly swung hither and thither with the aid of her prehensile hair. Yet the moment of defeat would arrive soon, as she was surrounded from every side by an impenetrable wall of enormous tree trunks, a tangle of undergrowth just as unravelable looming behind them. 

Hordak chuckled throatily at the unfolding fantasy, his shaft hard and twitching in his grasp now. Oh, the little seductress would willingly succumb to him, a delicate flower to pluck and carry back to the Fright Zone to sample its nectar… 

Defiant, she would stand afore him, hands on her shapely hips. He would unlatch the cannon to unburden both of his hands, as the hour necessitated the use of every finger. In particular the two in his right one, which he kept filed blunt and smooth  _ merely for her _ ...

He would trap her against the hardness of a tree trunk, lichen and rough bark behind her back. She would not struggle when he snapped manacles around her wrists and ankles, the gaze in her radiant magenta eyes dilated and a flush of arousal overcoming her cheeks. Perhaps the sheer thought of being pinned would cause sweet wetness to trickle down into her panties, if the recollection of his undulating shaft mounted deep into her had not made her soak through those finespun little undergarments yet. 

Mmmh...during those intimate moments they had shared back in the Fright Zone afore her treachery, restraining her movements to the point that she could barely stir had heightened her rapture so much that prolonged, explosive climaxes had overwhelmed her. Oh, the memory of her beauteous, soft body in the shelter of his arms… How she had whimpered and quivered, her eyes squeezed shut and moist lips open as the contractions within her honey-vessel but continued and continued. Him fondling her with gentle kisses and whispering endearments into her hair till she relaxed within his clasp, languid and clinging to his midriff with trembling fingers... 

Hence, a condign way to both imprison and pleasure her; impeded by those manacles, she ought not to forget that he had captured her, although he would never subject her to any form of mistreatment. However, he  _ would _ ensure that she remained mewling euphoniously in an even deeper, longer ecstasy when he carried her back to the camp beneath his cloak. Mmh...her voluptuous, bare bosom pressing into him, nipples hardened, the rapid beat of her heart a delightful thrum against his chest... 

The Warlord’s thirsty reverie soared back to the scene deep in the forest. A little pout would crinkle Entrapta’s visage as he growled against her face in his quest to unearth reasons for her vile treachery. Had he not offered her the algorithms and equations to the secrets of the multiverse itself? All his expansive knowledge of unfathomable ages at her disposal, his love and devotion for her rendering him blasphemous! He had decided to stall the portal opening in order to share an eternity with her instead of ascending into the resplendence of his God; decades of grueling research to attain the cosmos beyond requiring alteration... 

Oh, she would tell. All along, she had served as a spy for the Alliance, yet had been faltering in her role due to her burgeoning feelings for him. After yielding to him in the Sanctum, he had however failed her expectations in multiple ways, which she might mayhap reveal later. Oh, she still cared and desired for him, and if he convinced his dominant and technological prowess to her now, perhaps he could win her heart back. 

And thus he would, indeed, convince her to the utmost…the very least in this fantasy. The warlord licked his massive fangs, as he reclined upon the cushions, his manhood weeping translucent liquid and attempting to squirm on its own within his grasp. 

Her flimsy raiment would be effortless to tear apart with a few flicks of his claws. After savoring the sight of her and sampling her soft skin with his fingers here and there, he would commence to treat her properly, to turn her utterly drenched for him with long, slow caresses. Indeed, they would possess ample time there beneath the panoply of the enclosing verdure…

Mmrrh...he would lick her so thoroughly, consume every inch of her supple flesh. He would embark upon his moist mission by tracing the arch of her long, smooth neck with his tongue, dawling on those sensitive areas where that soft column met her shoulders. Ahh, the sensation of her warm skin beneath his lips, her intensifying pulse beating against him; her bosom heaving, as she began to whine in rapture… Thus he would continue, his outsized tongue exploring every part of her, till she glistened with his saliva and she moaned and trembled in his clasp, hot nectar trickling down her thighs. Mmmh, so utterly wet… 

Thereafter, he would hold her tight in a little bundle, as he drove his tongue into her core to savor that ambrosius honey. His licks would eventually find the little hooded bud, while his smooth-filed fingers sank completely into her heat, stretching and caressing her tight core with their ample length and thickness. He would make her surmount her pleasure again and again, her screams of ecstasy echoing in the forest. Her lips would discover his name evermore, swearing her submission to him, beseeching him to enter her with his throbbing, undulating shaft in every way imaginable… Oh, she would wail that she  _ needed _ him inside of her now, more than ever, to sate that accumulating ache for him... 

Oh, he would acquiesce to that plea, indeed, after granting her a little recess after four intense climaxes. Or five. Perchance six? Rrrrh…yes. Six. He would grin down at her trembling little form and whip out another mighty invention powered by the First Ones’ technology from his cloak pocket with a flourish. Months had soared past, as he had meticulously designed a powerful pleasuring device to fit her whenever he sought to enter her mouth with his shaft instead, or to exercise some creativity with his penetrations. Made of pliant substance, yet sturdy enough to mimic an erect phallus, it could be inserted into her in various ways and ranges of thickness, never more than the median girth of his manhood, however. After all, beneath all the detonative energy and enthusiasm, she was still a tiny and vulnerable creature, and possessed her limits. Whenever he sought to mount her, she required long stimulation before she might receive him properly. 

Reclining against the cushions, his eyes still closed, Hordak had thrown his head back and kept lustfully stroking his thick shaft. His angular jaws gaped wide open in a leering grin, while his long tongue continued tracing his black-painted lips and serrated teeth. Loud groans and deep rumbles escaped his throat, as his ravenous, fecund oneirisms sketched every luscious detail and sound of Entrapta for him to consume. 

Ahhh… Indeed, he would discover a suitable, low-hanging branch and utilize the sturdier fabric of her coveralls to tie her comfortably enough to the underside of it, so that her mouth was aligned with his crotch. She had nearly convinced him to attempt something equal in the Fright Zone half a year ago, but he had gainsaid the sensibility of it, as her arm had still been sheathed in the cast. Now, however, such injuries did not hamper her, so verily he would grant her that wish! A crimson flush would grace her cheeks, her eyes heavy-lidded and radiating lust in anticipation of his ministrations. He would introduce the device into her soaked core, as deep as her center yielded in order to reach the furthermost area of enhanced sensitivity. He would hold it firmly in place, while one of his fingers pleased her little bud. 

Then, he would release her hands to allow her to stroke the length of his shaft while she eagerly licked and sucked on it. Her endeavors to pleasure him in return would gain momentum, as he commenced to thrust into that moist, welcoming mouth. She would moan around the length, aroused both by the sensation and the notion of being penetrated from both ends at the same time. The device would imitate the wavelike motions of his independently moving shaft within her, the slight ridges molded into the shape massaging and gratifying her sensitive areas. Oh, and after a while it would claim her utterly, making her quiver and spasm in the throes of rapture, his sturdy manhood muffling her screams as fresh honey seeped out of her core and dribbled down onto the ground. When he pulled his manhood out, she would sweetly whimper his name and acclaim him so  _ technologically advanced _ for crafting that device- 

At that very moment, a datapad on a nearby table signaled an incoming call. Hordak snapped awake from his fantasy, ever-so-slightly disoriented in his haze of arousal. As one claw clicked a button, the visage of Force Captain Octavia appeared onscreen.

“Lord Hordak! You summoned us for a meeting. Is...everything in order? We heard... _ noises _ .”

The Warlord cleared his throat, attempting to adopt his usual, stoic presence whilst the sultry image of Entrapta’s delectable backside and his shaft seated within her slick heat swam in his vision. He let out a mental sigh of relief, as he realized that the visual range of the appliance at the very least could not capture his enormous member squirming and winding about on its own between his legs. 

“Those represent...nothing of concern. However, I have certain matters of grave consequence to converse in private. I shall...rendezvous you in a moment.”

Hordak swore the foulest profanities of the known universe under his breath after the call had expired. He shoved his swollen manhood into the concealment of his undergarments, merely to discover that it nonetheless formed a massive bulge, distinctly elevating the front of his robe. Not to mention that bloody damn  _ movement _ ... Forsooth, it would quiesce on its own after a while, yet still not briskly enough. 

Hissing, Hordak endeavored to fit the datapad over the accursed arousal, yet it proved too puny. How about that bowl upon the table…? No, too conspicuous. With a grumble, he grabbed the stinking, bloodstained cloak from a peg on the anteroom’s wall, and slung the stiff steel frame over his shoulders. Months ago, he had sworn an oath that cowering behind this very garment belonged to the grievances of yesteryear, yet did not these bloody nuisances always wander about in full circles and reencounter him during the most inappropriate times? 

Hence, he held a corner of the cloak over his midriff while adopting an impassive, official stance. He egressed his private quarters into the cockpit, which now served as an ersatz assembly room. Force Captains Grizzlor and Octavia saluted him, and relaxed as he inclined his head in recognition. 

“Now… Have you secured the perimeter of the aircraft from inquisitive ears as I instructed? No Shadow Spies sighted within the encampments? Very well. I have a proposition, the contents of which shall not be disclosed to anyone outwith this triad. However, we shall commence with generalities regarding the logistics of the prisoners. Seat yourselves.”

Both Force Captains grabbed chairs, and settled down around a table stacked with folders, maps, and anything related to strategic planning. Freshly installed screens aligned the walls, and heavy covers shielded the windows to allow privacy to the point that individual shadows limned against them could not be perceived from the outside. 

Hordak sat down as well, set his elbows on the table and laced his long fingers, ascertaining that the bulk of his torso over the rim of the table hid any vestiges of erections. “The war has presented us with a situation not descried in years; I believe we require additional vehicles and structures capable of transporting prisoners. Have them delivered to the camps from the Fright Zone. How do you propose we pursue matters thence? With such a potential workforce at our disposal, I deem there would be no point in merely detaining them in cells evidently incapable of holding such numbers in the first place.”

Grizzor let out a rumbling sound, and nodded. “What I heard from Force Captain Cobalt, our factories and kitchens are understaffed, as well as the wards and nurseries. We need labor, but the Alliance citizens also need to be kept under guard.”

“Indeed. We cannot omit the dire possibility of insidious infiltration, yet I observe no alternatives. Catalogue their skills and arrange for suitable positions. Those who would volunteer to learn new skills ought to be granted that boon.”

Octavia removed her helmet, and set it atop a teetering pile of hardcopies devoted to the geology and history of the moorlands and the western mountain range. An unusually stern expression formed deep vertical furrows between her eyes, and her mouth was drawn into a taut line. Less than a year back, she had acquired a cybernetic eye prosthesis that restored her full vision. It appeared nearly identical to the biological one, yet had a tendency to roll outwards when her focus laxed. Now, however, it fixed him with a sharp regard. 

“We’ve got to build more housing or at least place them into something more substantial than tents and guarantee proper meals and care. I saw a lot of mothers with either young kids or expecting some in the lines today, and the weather hasn’t been kind in the Fright Zone either during the past weeks. As a mother myself, I won’t be tolerating any shitty treatment. No matter which side they’re on. Then again, the prisoners will assimilate better into the empire in due course, when they see we’re not treating them like crap from the start.” 

She however continued before the Warlord could respond, her frown deepening. 

“Lord Hordak. I...I’ve got to get this out of my chest, even if I might be overstepping my boundaries. Was it within reason to kill our own soldiers earlier today?”

Unadulterated wrath blazed into a bonfire within the Warlord, and he smashed a massive fist against the tabletop, fangs bared into a snarl. “ _ That noisome scum were scheming to rape and maim Princess Entrapta! _ I shall claw the heart of any such schemer from its moorings and devour it raw, if-”

“I understand, Lord Hordak. Most of us Captains liked her, and I can’t ever forget how you two helped me.” She indicated the cybernetic eye. “Yet, there might’ve been other, less conspicuous ways to punish those little fuckwits. Now, we’ll be dealing with a landslide of rumors and other consequences.”

Hordak growled, his flaring red eyes flicking from the deep dent left behind by his strike to Octavia’s cool demeanor, and back again. The Force Captain, however, seemed so accustomed to Hordak’s outbursts, that she neither flinched nor lowered her stern gaze. His snarl eventually faded to a hiss, and he leaned back, squaring his shoulders. 

“That...in part pertains to the reason wherefore I have summoned you here. I am proposing rearrangements and reforms to some of the officer ranks, along with new disciplinary and reporting protocols to weed out suspicious or dangerous behaviors. As an example, we have recently been bereaved of a Force Captain. She has been officially reported missing in action, yet the common suspicion is that she defected. Now-”

“Excuse me for interrupting, Lord, but speaking of that... Are you sure La- Princess Entrapta defected the Horde?” Grizzlor muttered, threading his fingers through his great mane of brown hair. 

“ _ Of course she did! _ ” the Warlord snapped, rage geysering again and claws digging into the surface of the table. “She led the other Princesses in, and-” Something however made him falter mid-sentence. Mayhap it was Octavia’s arched brow upon her countenance not tolerating frivolities, or the way Grizzlor had clamped his hefty jaws together, fangs on display. 

“Pray tell, are you aware of something left undisclosed to the Lord of the dominion?” Hordak’s voice suddenly flowed as smooth as liquid velvet, yet held an ominous, razor-sharp edge. 

The Force Captains glanced at one another. 

“Don’t think so,” Grizzlor supplied. “It’s just that...it’s a bit weird, this whole Alliance warfare.”

“Lord Hordak, I’d like to address you later in private about some matters regarding Princess Entrapta. I can’t do it now; I’ve got to...think about it a bit beforehand. Now, what Grizzlor here suggests is that we’re missing something. What’s up with the shortage of advanced tech, for one thing? If she stole your designs, we’d be seeing killer bots in Bright Moon colors depleting our ranks.”

“Hrrrmh.” The Warlord wriggled his claws out of the tabletop, glowering at the jagged holes through which he could behold his grieves. “I have remarked upon the same peculiarities, verily, besides her absence amongst the Princesses. I must ponder more upon this.” He fixed Octavia with a scrutinizing gaze. “As for your request, Force Captain... You shall accost me in due course. Now, however, we will discuss subjects pertaining to the aforementioned rearrangements.” 

Octavia nodded. Was there a hint of...relief upon her countenance? 

“Now… I am not relieving you of your duties per se, however from now on you both shall report directly to me, bypassing Force Captain Catra. Therewith, you will appoint reliable Acting Captains--albeit that they will be known as Assisting Captains within the actual ranks--to handle routine operations. You, however, will remain in my close proximity when you have accomplished these preparations.”

Both veterans regarded him with evident surprise. 

“Lord Hordak...this is quite an honor,” Grizzlor rumbled. “So...we’re, eh...your part-time bodyguards?” 

“Mayhap more than part-time; however I do stress that this marshaling must seem more akin to employing aides, while I observe and remark upon the stratagems within the Horde. We may standardise the arrangement and declare it to the public after I am more comprehensively aware of both the machinations of the enemy and such murmurs that led to the utmost decommissioning of those...hrrhm... _ little fuckwits _ . Now...we must agree upon a multitude of particulars regarding this maneuver, and I am well aware of the dearth of hours on this very eventide. Nevertheless...”

Around the General’s domicile, the encampment gradually quieted down, while the officers still debated about the reorganizations. Eventually, both Grizzlor and Octavia stomped back into their tents, yawning like great caverns. Somewhat later, the lights within Hordak’s inner chambers dimmed. Outside, sleet continued to plummet down from the heavens, and shrouds of mist enfolded everything into their damp, chilly embrace.

* * *

Hordak blinked.

A dusky, starless sky arched over a bleak moorland. Mist hung upon the ground, while a thin layer of snow whitened the stiff shrubs. Brittle, semi-translucent ice stretched across pools. The white veil did not reach all the way into the heavens: Instead, something ominous shimmered in the clear sky. It was of a hue so black that the celestial gloom seemed pale compared to its utter absence of  _ anything _ . It was a roiling hole torn into the fabric of the universe, a hungry maw that devoured everything that ventured too near its presence. Hordak knew what it was: the sun of this otherworldly vista, the portal through which he had emerged decades ago into Despondos, and the route to the utmost oblivion, all three at the same time. 

The Warlord stood stark naked amid the desolation. In spite of the frost, his skin felt no chill. However, if the same could only have applied to his heart… It was a cold, dead lump weighing down his chest; irregularly shaped and with jagged edges pressing painfully into his very essence. No matter how much he rubbed at his chest, life could not be poured back into the organ. 

He still breathed, although even that bodily function seemed...waning. A little puff of white vapor left his nasal openings reminiscent of the fleshless, gaping nostrils of a skull, and evaporated into the hush of the stagnant air. 

He began to totter onwards with shaking legs. Frozen bracken crunched and shattered beneath his great weight, the claws of his toes digging into the black soil beneath. He realized that he had visited this site several times before, and instinctively recognized the route onwards to his destination through the untrodden foliage. Then again, the... _ thing _ that hid within the mantle of haze was citing him on a semi-conscious level; a siren song appallingly inviting and undeniable in its force. 

Something loomed ahead now: monolithic upright shapes breaking the monotony of the landscape. Soon Hordak wandered past lichen-coated standing stones, pallid with hoarfrost. Some of the ancient sentinels had cracked or tumbled and become partway buried in the peat beneath the scrub. Yet even with gaps in their ranks, they appeared to form great, concentric circles, the very center of which was pulsating with that uncanny, conjuring power. 

More faltering steps, more huge pawprints left upon the dreary forlornness as he approached the heart of the ancient monument. Finally, something else loomed beyond the standing stones: An immense burial mound piled of gray pebbles upon massive kerbstones faced him. Even though solid and immovable, every one of those rocks seemed to chant an unearthly melody, bidding him to wade through the gaping, dark entrance set to the very center of the structure. 

He slunk beneath the lintel stones of the entrance and further beyond, invisible tendrils of summoning forces entwining his limbs and pulling him in. A narrow tunnel followed, the walls and ceiling formed of large slabs of stone. In spite of the darkness, he could behold the carvings inscribed on every surface in fine detail. It was a surreal sight of almost neverending spirals gyrating in on themselves; lozenges and zigzags arranged into webs, everything surrounded by deep indentations akin to the hollow eye sockets of skulls. As Hordak advanced, the passage contracted and the ceiling descended, first forcing him to hunch and eventually crawl on his stomach to pass through. Murky, cold puddles shivered on the uneven, flagged floor, and condensation from the brooding rocks above splashed upon him. Even if his skin did not react to the alterations in temperature, something on a mental level made him recognize the sepulchral chill emanating from every surface, even if it was marginally warmer here in the womb of the earth than outside.

Ultimately, his skin wet and scratched from scraping against rough-hewn rock, he squeezed through the final stretch of tunnel so constricted that his broad chest could barely slide past the stone. However, a vast chamber unfolded beyond, a space so encompassing that all vertical surfaces towered somewhere out of sight, the ceiling seeming to form the dome of an entire universe. As he scrambled up and commenced to clump onwards, something brittle yet harder than the frozen plants outwith cracked beneath his heel. 

Hordak glanced down. The cranium of a yellowed skull had shattered beneath his bulk. As his gaze swept across the floor, he espied that bones of all ilk sprawled upon the flagstones: some fresh and snow-white, some so ancient they had blackened in the rank pools. No order seemed to exist among them: Pelvises of some monstrously large species sat next to tiny humanoid skulls, a handful of toe bones scattered close to a great tusk. Yet all of these creatures partook in the same fate: He had slaughtered them upon countless battlefields stretching across myriads of worlds and solar systems. Planets and quadrants and entire galaxies conquered in the name of his God, purified in the white fire of utter oblivion. On and on the floor extended, into the murk of a nameless infinity. 

The Warlord still scrambled onwards, corroded bones crumbling into dust beneath his soles. Translucent wraiths began to emerge from the floor: the souls of the slain, ascending to witness his descent into the land of the dead. Hordak, however, felt neither trepidation nor remorse for them; his God had appointed him to a service so consecrated that nothing could compare to its holy virtuousness. Besides, those pieces of decaying filth weltering in their pathetic, sin-infested pits had been purged of all transgressions and mortal viles, their passing a glorious hymn to the omnipotence of the One, True God. At least, so he had always believed. The spectres remained still, yet quietly observant and condemning him with their mere presence. 

Now, however, he scampered to a halt as a tidal wave of sensations and feelings, nearly corporeal in their potency, struck him from the gloom ahead. A bristling, barbed tapestry woven of the most venomous loathing and despite it was, piercing his every fibre with vicious, gelid blades. He gargled in the throes of sudden, hideous pain, clawing at his chest where the petrous lump of his heart had abruptly shuddered back to life. 

An apparition of a diverse ilk had become manifest amongst the wraiths. It was utterly black, a formless mass of undulating, smokelike substance. At the same time, however, hundreds of claws and fanged mouths subsisted within the folds and coils of its amorphous essence, ready to strike.

Aghast, Hordak gaped at the monstrosity, cold sweat running down his brow. During the previous occasions he had visited this sepulchre, the apparition had merely hovered in the air, devoid of this...ravenous contempt. He recognized it fully now, however. It was the same... _ something _ that had stirred within him whilst heeding to the noisome maggot-spawns. 

With that, two things happened simultaneously. Four lurid eyes opened in the inky substance of the being, and Hordak realized he was mayhap lingering in a dream realm instead of some palpable cosmos. Yet that was a... _ hesitant _ mayhap. After all, eldritch abominations and nameless blasphemies so primordial a mere mortal could never fathom the depths of their existence lurked in the transcendental else-realms of the multiverse, capable of pervading other dimensions and creating illusions of worlds within worlds. 

Vitriolic green eyes like fangs glared at the Warlord, and the apparition morphed again. He gasped as he beheld the imposing form of his God predominating over him: a hulking divinity of eight and a half feet tall, pure white hair gleaming in the sacred aura that haloed him from every side. He was clad as Hordak had last encountered Him during the moment of his banishment: a high-collared cloak draped an open-chested robe with high slits revealing mesh-clad thighs and tall, metal-heeled boots. In spite of the stinging pain yet tearing at his very essence, Hordak prostrated himself afore the phantasm and pressed his forehead against a damp flagstone. 

Horde Prime, however, grabbed the Warlord by the hair and yanked him up. Indeed, in a tangible reality such an act would have torn the skin of his scalp away, yet here he hung in the dank air, feebly kicking and at the same time attempting to cover his exposed manhood. 

“You have grievously disobeyed my commands, little brother,” the likeness of Prime drawled, leering at the ill-formed clone with bared fangs. “A besmirched, iniquitous heart lusting for a transient speck of dirt over his creator…”

His snakelike glare flicked down to Hordak’s hands positioned over his crotch. “That...belongs solely to me, you puny loathsome pest! Yet you have stuck it into fetid flesh whichever way, and keep defiling yourself further by obscenely touching yourself and dreaming of said dirt.”

“My Lord- I...” Hordak stuttered, gulping, gasping. “I am unworthy afore you, I have s-”

“Indeed, yet after every unveracious prayer for forgiveness, after every solemn promise, you plummet back into that disgustful hell-abyss of carnal desires whence you arose. Despicable, yet all expectable from such a weak, ill-bred disgrace among my brothers,” the likeness sighed and rolled its eyes. As Hordak pleaded and pleaded, clawing at the vice-like hand dangling him in the air, the semblance of Prime appeared to consider something. 

“I shall...offer you an alternate approach. I am afraid you have passed so deep into profanation and failure that you may have posited yourself beyond plain forgiveness; you may have forfeited any reasons to exist. Hmh. Even when you were granted an unhallowed opportunity by some heathen wyrds to remain with this earthly creature, you foiled your chances by...well. I need not mention  _ how _ . For both a new start and an end, I can, however, offer you  _ oblivion _ .” The semblance grinned at the Warlord, his snakelike, vertical pupils drawing into thinner, more malignant slits. “No more pain, no more mortal lust and longing, no more impure figments of matters unattainable… Succumb to me, and I shall end it all-” 

Hordak opened his eyes. His... _ true _ eyes. He respired in and out raggedly, staring into the dimness ahead consisting of hard, metallic surfaces and neon green console lights. A scratched, grayish green floor stretched below, swallowed by the shadows of a desk further away. Shapes and articles he was acquainted with, not...carven megaliths and a plain of osseous, heathen remnants-

His body gave an involuntary shiver, as the brunt of the vision cudgeled his awareness. What-  _ What was that thing? _ That amorphous, bristling darkness-

Furthermore, only now he became cognizant of the sheen of cold moistness upon his skin. Had he experienced that bloody nightmare so pictorially that his body had responded to it, or were his life support appliances malfunctioning? One trembling hand rose up to wipe droplets from his brow. It discovered limp, sodden hair in its wake, and he frowned at the sensation. 

Wherefore was he so...wet? Even his night-robe clung to his skin. He rarely perspired as much during nocturnal times; it was as if he had tumbled about in a pool, or- 

In the gloom, his eyes hit the bare, emaciated forearm, and beheld fresh scrapes amongst the webbing of scar tissue. 

He- What? Where had he acquired such markings? In sooth, the cybernetic muscle tissue and layers of armor provided such steadfast protection for his skin that nothing during the most fervent clash of battle should have induced such irregularities, unless his armor broke. Scowling, he inspected the other arm, and discovered more scratches. As if, in addition to wading through something wet, his body had abraded against a coarse surface-

His perception swerved back to the nightmare, and another tremor raked through his body. He now comprehended that his nighttime sojourns to that ominous barrow had been numerous. Nevertheless, this counted as the very first time he could actually hark back to weeks and weeks of dreams that had bogged back into the subconsciousness upon awakening. In the vision, he  _ had _ crept in a dank, waterlogged passage, forcing his way through ever-narrowing, rough structures…

What was this sorcery? Had the black magic of the Alliance witches somehow enfolded the encampment, or was Shadow Weaver spinning illusions that somehow reached the victim’s body in a perverted, nigh tangible fashion? He had...briefly contemplated something about the merging of realms in the dream. What...what had that been?

By the sacred light-throne of Prime… He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and rubbed at his temples. He… He required a drink or a vial of amniotic fluid, and had to inspect the readings of his bodily functions. Mayhap he had underdosed his medications in some dawdling afterglow of the victory, or his concentration had dwelt too keenly upon the lush hillocks and vales of  _ her _ again... Automated arms detached the life support system from his ports, and the Warlord scrambled out of his podlike bed. Now, where had he deposited his cane…

He halted, as other preternatural aspects of the nightmare smote him. If this was Shadow Weaver’s handiwork, how had she conjured up such a vivid memory of his God, clad in His hallowed, quondam vestments worn in an altogether different universe? She could not  _ see _ into his recollections and summon forth selected narratives, could she? Nobody else kenned the full extent of his failures, his faltering prayers to Prime, or-

Thereupon, fragmentary memories from the bygone months suddenly latched together into a broader, more coherent picture. He realized that the...formless shadow-being represented nothing new, as such. It had brooded within his dreams  _ even before _ embarking upon this front-line military operation into the demesnes of the Alliance. So far in those nocturnal lands, it had remained still and...well, neutral, in a fashion. 

However, in the waking life… He had to sieve through his memories for further moments, and once he discovered them, he was able to distinguish a disconcerting pattern. On more than a semi-conscious level, he had acknowledged its existence, as something dark and unfathomable that seemed to  _ rear _ within him every now and then. Thus far, he had dismissed these notions as mere effects of hormonal surges, something pertaining to the violent reds of battle-lust and aggression. 

Cursing, Hordak took support from a nearby wall, as a wave of sudden dizziness hit him. By the heavenly dominion of Lord Prime, he observably  _ had _ applied insufficient amounts of critical pharmacons into his system. And wherefore had he left his cane by the door? Not that his condition demanded such an assistive element that oftentimes, yet the Princess had insisted he retain one in his proximity when out of armor. What had made him shun such aids before had perhaps related to his willingness to punish himself further for his deficiencies; even introspection had not entirely shed light on all his illogical acts. 

A fond memory of Entrapta helping him up after a spell of vertigo snaked its way into his awareness. He could hear that high-pitched tone in his mind exactly as it had echoed in the depths of the Sanctum, offering him a length of pipe to lean against, and then blabbing on about a telescopic cane he might carry in a pocket. And that it might transform into a weapon during the rare instant of peril, besides a near myriad other possibilities... Ah, at that time her arm had nearly recovered, and along the wake of their newfound intimacy, the bubbly enthusiasm had returned, complete with a galaxyful of inventive ideas...

A wistful smile lifted up the corners of his mouth, as the room reeled around him and he stretched his arm towards the cane. Therewith, another element of the nightmare fastened into a recollection from beyond half a year. A recollection he had repeatedly shoved back into the lowest layers of his mind in order to  _ forget, to bloody well forget _ . Then again,  _ that certain moment  _ had spiraled into a catastrophe of vile treachery so fleetingly, that black ravines gaped where solid mental images ought to bridge one instance of time to another. 

_ Even when you were granted an unhallowed opportunity by some heathen wyrds to remain with this earthly creature, you foiled your chances by...well. I need not mention  _ how _. _ ..

Hordak knew  _ how _ . If his cadaverous visage could have blanched, it would have paled beyond the conception of white. 

On the day the signal to Lord Prime had fled into the dimensions beyond Despondos, he had...shouted at the Princess, arguing about the opening of the portal and the embedding of She-Ra’s sword into the mechanism. Oh, how he had endeavored to hew the recollection of her almost teary, disappointed expression into dust, and indeed succeeded in suppressing it for so long. That the very last aspect of her ought to dwell beneath a mourncloud, splattered and besmirched by the acid downpour of his indignation. Ah, he had possessed sound reasons, yet had not been able to suppress his vehemence from igniting in that bedlam of glitching armor, Catra’s unforeseen emergence, and Adora’s harangue…

The room around him gave an almighty lurch, and his heart, disconnected from the life support, began to jitter. He had stretched his arm too far, forsaken the relative safety of the wall, and he crashed hard onto the floor. The defeated visage of the Princess swam in his vision, as tears began to well in his eyes. 

Indeed, whilst buried in the avalanche of her treason months ago, he had cognized that  _ he _ might have in fact betrayed her; a detestable failure like him had never deserved love of friendship, especially after that confrontation, no matter how well-grounded. Thereupon, he had desired to forget and hark back only to her joy and beauty. Not... _ this _ .  _ Never this. _

“P-please forgive me- R-return to me-” he sobbed, trembling claws attempting to reach the cane mere inches away. 

Perchance she would have stalled her betrayal, had he not detonated yet again? He had never hurt her, he never could, yet wounds slashed across the soul could be just as devastating. Yet at the same time, had he not lavished her with his adoration, saved her from indubitable doom, imperiling his own life more than once?

“W-wherefore d-did you desert me? I- I offered you nigh  _ everything _ in my possession. W-WHY?” The salt of tears stung his eyes, the fluids blurring his reeling focus. The cane seemed to run cackling away from him, swirling about him in a manic dance of avoidance. If- If he could hoist himself upright and drag himself to the medical cooling unit-

He was fulfilling his destiny again. He had failed both his God and his love. Now it was his turn to fail  _ himself _ . 

His heart skipped a beat, then another. 

“H-help-” he gargled into the gloom, as his pulse trembled to a halt. 

Somewhere within the shadows of his mind, a concentration of impenetrable darkness billowed like smoke. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment. I'm a bit nervous about this whole fic, as it's the most complex story I have attempted to write in many, many years and it's been rather difficult to assemble so far, so I'd be ever so happy to hear how it's holding together. All of your lovely feedback keeps my inspiration bubbling as well! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for following the story so far! These chapters aren’t easy to assemble and involve external research (among other things, I looked up mining terminology for this one), so it may take me a while to update. I apparently need to lighten up as well amid all the angst and grimdarkness; hence the more light-hearted ficlet I’ll be typing alongside of this.

Shadows coiled and rippled, melding with hues of vitriolic green. The caustic, unblinking stare of four eyes with keen slits for pupils held the promise of oblivion. A silent, wordless glare, yet acrid enough to bore through skin and bone, far into the deepest seat of consciousness. Outside the burial mound, past the circles of standing stones, gaped the black sun of the elseworld, offering equal release from everything. Two forces of perdition stood ready to dissolve the life-exhausted body and the spirit within. First the skin would be flayed away, then muscle and sinew peeled off; eventually, all bindings and shackles holding the frail, mortal existence together would be broken and the soul hewn to dust…

The vitriolic regard flickered, and morphed into two red, burning pits rimmed by black shadows reminiscent of the silhouettes of nocturnal, blood-sucking beasts. Equally, this semblance of the self sung voicelessly of the ultimate void. No more pain, no more grief…

Suddenly, the shapeshifting being in its mantle of shadows turned about, as a high-pitched screech issuing from somewhere shattered the weaving of its almost irresistible spell. The noise appeared to emanate somewhere from beyond the tangible walls of this existence. It intensified, somehow making the billowing, smokelike substance of the being recoil, its questing and arresting tendrils retreating into its essence. With that, appeared the sensation of sharp pain-

Hordak opened his eyes and nictated. Once, twice, gathering his bearings. The sensation of oppression or possession seemed to stagger further away from his mind with every past-ticking second. Those seconds, however, appeared to stretch and stretch, crawling onwards in an impossibly slow speed, like sap dribbling… Scratched, muddy green floor expanded before the prone Warlord, a deja-vu of-

Another sharp jolt of pain, this time upon his cheek. The almost ear-splitting keen that pursued the strike finally shook him fully awake. He turned his head a mite to envisage Imp looming mere inches away. The clone’s tiny hand was poised over Hordak’s countenance, minute yet needle-sharp claws ready to slash. Alarm twisted his face, pointed teeth uncovered as if prepared to bite. 

“I am...vivified anew,” Hordak mumbled, memories of his collapse gliding back into his awareness. An intense burning sensation on his other cheek told of unsuccessful resuscitation attempts. Imp, chittering angrily, stepped in front of Hordak’s visage, and grabbed the collar of his nightrobe. 

“The Force Captains...are not here. I...acknowledge your concern in this. Notwithstanding, disclosing the sheer existence of my degenerative ailments to-” The Warlord winced slightly at the rising pitch of Imp’s assertion, his ears flicking down. After heeding to the little creature’s frantic scolding for a few minutes, he sighed. “Very well, very well. Mayhap you are itemizing valid concerns. We shall...engage in colloquy about this after I have rejuvenated myself. If you would hand me that cane...” 

His fingers curled partially around the handle, the little finger persistently remaining stiff and erect, its fellow adjacent to it feeling partially numb. A fleeting image of Entrapta flashed through his vision, the Princess holding his out-of-armor, malfunctioning hand in her tiny ones and wondering whether they might replace some of the slightly degraded sensory nerves in his arms or hands with artificial ones via operation.

Indeed...she had been so enthused in her endeavors to aid him once she had discovered his illness, constructing that marvel of an armor and constantly repairing its glitches and augmenting it with small improvements. What...what had powered such motivation preceding the treachery? Had his vehemence verily turned the tide of her affection with such urgency?

The memories recovered moments before his collapse tore at his heartstrings, yet did not induce further tears. Perhaps some portion of his mind had now dejectedly accepted that which had occurred, and that endeavoring to bury it all afresh might only harm him more. 

Oh, if only he could now find sensible replies to the questions they conjured... 

He staggered to a stool located at the other end of the chamber, while the furnishings performed acrobatic motions in his reeling vision. As he slouched down, voice-activated robotic arms sprung into action, plugging tubes into his ports and medical apparati into the other ends. One automated set of metallic digits cleaned up the bleeding scratches upon his face, and as a further precaution, treated the weird scrapes upon parts of his body with disinfectant. In the meantime, Imp scowled at him from a nearby desk, arms akimbo and a pout pursing his upper lip. The Warlord was nearly driven to roll his eyes in exasperation, yet in all sooth had to assent to the little clone’s peevishness. Hence, instead, he extended a shaking hand and ruffled Imp’s tuft of hair, which appeared to mollify the creature a smidgen. 

As expected, the readings of Hordak’s vital functions exploded all over the place, once every property had been measured and output. Thereafter, the machinery calculated the necessary amounts of medication to stabilize the nutritional and electrochemical values of his blood and secondary fluids. He took care to utter every command to the dispensing software, recognizing that he had indeed performed his evening routines sloppily. Therewith, as the medicaments began affecting his body, and the readings upon one of the screens improved, the spinning of the world slowly subsided, expelling a portion of the clouds obscuring his reason.

Hmpf. As Imp had posited, he indeed was very vulnerable, and not merely due to some impending peril from an external source. He might have grown lax to the insidious paroxysms of his own degrading frame, owing to the care of the Princess and the tremendous armor. Granted, he felt more vitalized than in decades, however some of it might have been illusory, as hormonal surges bolstered the sensations of invincibility. Well...perchance he ought to have commanded either Force Captain to remain in the cockpit after the negotiations, even if the manner of warding had solely been a physical presence, permitting one to suspend their vigilance and sleep. However, Hordak himself had suggested commencing such duties once suitable Acting Captains had been constituted; hence both Grizzlor and Octavia had vacated the ship for the rest of the night. 

As the minutes crawled past, clumping into larger units of time, the numbers and bars upon the screen continued ascending and descending towards the markers indicating normal readings. In spite of a sense of relief, the creases of vexation upon Hordak’s brow did not smoothen. He could not outright declare to his high officers what a pathetic wreck he was, lest he suffered the diminution of all of his authority. Even Entrapta had uncovered his greatest arcanum by accident. Nevertheless...these collapses might recur, and he could not always rely on Imp either. 

“What would you propose?” he grumbled at Imp. “Verily, I am not adhering to a mumpsimus, as you would be inclined to state it! Princess Entrapta represented an exception-”

He halted his utterance. Peradventure it was the act of mentioning her name aloud, combined with the notions about his armor and her somewhat unsettling lack of presence on the battlefield, yet more freely fluttering scraps of ideas latched together into a coherent unit, as had occurred before his syncopal event. He shushed Imp with a quick motion, as he grasped the thought and its significance by the throat. 

Wherefore had the Princess Alliance not exploited his flagrant weakness? Wherefore had  _ he _ not considered this aspect before? On the other hand, his heartrending longing for his lost beloved had muddled his comprehension for a good while, turning him into a brooding, sulking shade that kept crouching in the wrecked remains of the portal device. His vision had cramped into a narrow tunnel, intuition and inventiveness huddling in their hidey-holes, as whirlwinds of rage commingling with overpowering misery had ravaged the landscape of his mind. Not that his balance had even yet been restored, however he had been able to think with an increased clarity of mind during the past quarter of a year. Even so…

If his second-in-command had manipulated him thus, why not the witches of the Alliance? They could have wrought eldritch incantations to tear the First Ones’ crystal from its moorings, or the tube connected to his neck port, thus incapacitating the harbinger of the Galactic Horde with a single strike. Instead, he buffeted and blasted apart shimmering nets and flowery vines and spiky formations of ice. Those were effectual in slowing down the trundling of his mighty army, yet...tactically lackluster. 

Again, the notion of everything seeming to require  _ too little effort _ stomped into his mind, and plonked down to sit cross-legged before his mental gaze. According to straightforward logic, that Princess violating allegiances pledged should have imparted knowledge about all of his weaknesses to the enemy. Another oddity… Besides, his Force Captains had also descried discrepancies in her supposed fate... 

Adjacent to Hordak, the machinery beeped, informing that both his organic and artificially integrated functions had stabilized. Imp had sat down at the edge of the desk, swinging his little legs back and forth, unceasing to glare at his father figure. Notwithstanding the regained equilibrium, a tidal wave of weariness washed over the Warlord. Oh, he trained assiduously whilst clad in his armor, straining and maintaining the strength of the muscle groups not affected by atrophy. Yet he still ached from the previous day’s exertions upon the battlefield, even if the pain medication amongst his nightly concoction dampened the effects to an extent. 

Howbeit, he could not dismiss Imp’s petulant snort. 

“By the holy regiments of the seven heavens,” he exhaled. “I hazard to guess that you would deem it indispensable to venture out  _ now, _ and ascertain that someone shall occupy the cockpit with a bedroll henceforward?”

Imp pursed his lips and raised his brows, and Hordak heaved an even deeper sigh. 

Once again, the former top General of the Galactic Horde and the prevailing Lord of the Fright Zone found himself incapable of debating with a minuscule clone bearing the semblance of a chubby-cheeked demon toddler. After the machinery had assembled the armor over his withered arms and activated the power source, he trod out, grumbling rather affectionately under his breath at the stubbornness of his creation. 

\-----

Sometime later, the Warlord returned to his quarters, brushing off snow from the shoulders of his cloak and the front of his robe. The earlier hiss of the sloppy sleet had transformed into an onset of a blizzard, the harsh blasts of air gaining speed and temperatures plummeting. When Hordak had taken leave of his premises for a whit, the encampment had been livelier than expected. He had beheld soldiers in the distance re-erecting tents rent from their earthen anchorage, while one of the tall floodlights had fallen across the central thoroughfare. Force Captain Octavia had been unprocurable for warden service while supervising storm shelter erections and other emergency procedures with her direct adjutants, some of them mayhap future Acting Captains. 

Beyond the door, Grizzlor was preparing to repose on the floor in the lack of better sleeping arrangements. A veteran of countless wars, familiar with the austere conditions upon battlefronts, he scarcely grouched about a warm aircraft offering superior shelter from the elements compared to a field tent, even with all the technical improvements embedded into the synthetic fabrics produced by Hordak’s factories. During the upcoming days, the Warlord would implement a simple alerting system to summon either Force Captain into his personal quarters in the unlikely event of another prostration. He could mayhap activate a single button on a portable device around his wrist, which would transmit a signal to a datapad. Then again, if he desired his cachectic and degenerative condition to remain a secret forevermore, he would need to exercise much greater circumspection on his wavering vital functions. 

After his automatons had disassembled his armor, Hordak trod back into his pod, tubes re-plugging into his ports. As he closed his eyes, he discovered that proper sleep nevertheless eluded him. Instead, his perplexed attention drifted back to the minacious reveries. He could recall the...shadow-being addressing him during his syncope as well, disturbingly transitioning from God to a mimicry of his own self. What...was that... _ thing _ , if it even could be hight a creature? Had...God sent him a revelation through the mazes of overlapping dimensions, a harsh yet vindicating bidding to repent and grovel in the dirt afore His holy feet? 

Well. Neither could Hordak deny the possibility of his entire downfall having resulted from an instructive fate delivered unto him by Lord Prime. Surely the Most Hallowed in His omnipotence could predetermine the unworthy lives of His brethren, even from afar? Perchance this rocky path led to the utmost salvation, as all beings were obliged to suffer to become pure. Perhaps he had even merited Entrapta’s betrayal as a recompense for his previous delinquencies and dismissals of sacred doctrine. 

Outside the wind howled, and something clattered against the roof of the vessel. The Warlord shivered within the confines of his pod. However, the chills coursing through his frame and the abrupt clenching of his heart did not pertain to the roiling elements. 

That likeness of his God... Well. He had not extended to Hordak neither clemency nor destigmatizing. Only oblivion, as the Warlord had seemed irredeemable before that hallowed, omniscient scrutiny. How- How could that be? That he was beyond- 

New tears threatened to well up in his eyes, as he considered the gamut of his failures: the utmost reproval of God, the treachery of the sole being he had ever romantically loved, the deterioration of his physique, all of his hard labor miscarrying in the end… 

He squeezed his eyes shut, gulping down the bile that had risen up to his palate. Well… Perhaps that semblance had pronounced the truth. In the light of all of his failings, the promise of oblivion as an assuagement did possess its merits… A murky void wherein his essence would be shorn of all feelings and bodily cravings, his soul disintegrating and spreading out as senseless motes and quanta into the neverending nothingness... God would not have to bother with His one imperfect creation any longer, that sole blemish marring the purity of His dominion. He would vindicate Etheria in due course sans the pitiful presence of His erstwhile General who could not satisfy His will even all those epochs ago. 

Ought he to grasp the hand of Lord Prime’s semblance and succumb? Tempting,  _ oh so tempting _ ... Eons of struggling against his deteriorating health, loneliness piled upon unmitigated solitude after having been disconnected from the Hive Mind, failure upon failure upon failure…

His chest heaved, the struggle against the outburst of salty tears nigh futile…  _ What _ was he to do? 

Nevertheless, a tiny voice of reason tore a hole into the descending, thick curtain of despair. What about the watch he had arranged mere moments ago as a safeguard for his illness? Or his steadfast vows to retrieve Entrapta to the Fright Zone and rekindle her devotion, even if he had to level the Whispering Woods and the very ice-mountains of the far north to triumph in his quest? 

Therewith… What about the fact that the betrayal had occurred  _ before _ the signal had been broadcast into the multiverse outwith? This tiny, nagging voice of logic seemed to possess the mannerisms of Imp, screeching and clawing at Hordak’s woebegone self. If God had not been capable of reaching him during all these decades, then He could not have dispatched such an execration upon the Warlord either. Hordak’s essence was wrought of logic and straightforward cognitive patterns relying on science and mathematics, so wherefore did he not heed his lucid side?

The Warlord blinked. Fatigue might have weighed down his limbs, yet his reflections, albeit whirling around in a maelstrom of heartache and angst, seemed indeed too alert to yield to the forces of sleep. If the unfolding of the warp within the portal and the brief alignment of the dimensional matrices had revealed anything to him, it pertained to the staggering amount of time that had passed in his universe of origin during his stay in Despondos. Time dilation, the eldritch influences of magic, and the convolutions of the myriad realms all contributed to the different progress of events in the various dimensions. 

Centuries had passed in the Galactic Empire while Hordak had rotted in this arsehole of the cosmos, the units of his personal sojourn counted in  _ mere decades _ . Blasphemously, he had even deliberated whether the dominion of God had fallen into ruin in the meantime, and hence nobody had sought to discover his whereabouts or reacted to the signal. Half a year had passed upon Etheria subsequent to the portal activation, which amounted to several years of universal galactic time. 

Granted, he might have been such an inconsequential speck in the fabric of the multiverse that Lord Prime simply refused to acknowledge his meaningless existence. Hence, was the likeness within the barrow verily a manifestation or an astral projection of  _ Him _ ? And wherefore such a peculiar stage for His grand emergence, vacuous of metaphor and unfamiliar to Hordak himself? It resembled the ancient moorland structures the Etherian Horde had trundled past, yet much more colossal in scale. That...made scarce sense. Lord Prime would have preferred something sleeker and much more grandiose, such as the throne room of his stately flagship. Hardly the interior of an archaic, crude burial mound littered with moldering bones, let alone sharing it with the specters of bygone heathens and impious desecrators crouching amid rank pools... To Hordak’s present knowledge and deviating from his personal interests concerning the highlands, that terrain enfolded nothing that might titillate Lord Prime, apart from the rich ore deposits lying concealed beneath the layers of peat. 

The Warlord gazed at the scrapes again in the dimness of his chamber, their existence mostly forgotten during the aftermath of his collapse. Something uncanny was afoot, perhaps unrelated to both the witchcraft of the Princesses and the Emperor of the Known Universe. 

Yet he could not fathom what. 

Furthermore...perhaps he should not accept that gift of oblivion just yet, as he did not quite recognize the offerer. 

* * *

A fortnight later, Hordak and his new, albeit unofficial, adjutant-bodyguards shared the cluttered confines of the cockpit. The Warlord might relish clean surfaces and tools arranged into their proper berths after a day of experimenting and research, however these cramped frontline quarters simply could not withhold extensive shelves or cabinets for carefully labeled hardcopies and other paraphernalia. The screens around the table shimmered with green-and-black topographic maps relaying fragmentary information about the movements of Horde vessels, on-demand feed from scanner bots, and sundry other intelligence. Physical maps, some worn into tatters from use, sprawled on the floor or were pinned to the window shields; hardcopies delving into the geography of Etheria and archaeological treatises about notable First Ones’ structures lay open on the table, an umpteen bookmarks spilling from between their pages.

“Verily, I esteem that we would profit from refurbishing another aircraft or a heated conveyance module into a more capacious assembly room,” Hordak grumbled from his end of the table, an enormous folio devoted to the landscapes of the southern coast and parts of the highlands spread out before him. It did not entirely fit upon the clear surface, but straddled other items, some of which were in danger of toppling over the table’s edge. His regard flicked to the narrow bunk by the main entrance, where either Force Captain slept during alternate nights. “I hazard to opine that this would not cumber you either.”

“No, my Lord. I’m not bothered, but I wouldn’t want to risk stepping on my Lord’s belongings.” Grizzlor nodded. “And as we’re not getting our breakfast from the mess any longer, but cooking a lot in that little corner by more stacks of hardcopies...”

“Very well. We shall locate an accordant annex, however we may have to defer such an operation till a thaw permits the relocation of the encampments further north. Hmm. Shall we return to the subject at hand? I deem we can commence constructing a paved access road southwards hence, albeit that the exact mouth of the mine yet remains conjectural. Forthwith, we do possess solid data about the ore deposits through the agency of numerous core samples and the priorly performed scans.” 

Outside the peripheral picket lines, deep snow blanketed the moors. It enfolded into its glittering, white embrace the ravaged villages and the great wound the Horde had ground across the highlands. Somewhere beneath the virginal drifts reposed also the carcasses of the forgotten Alliance fighters, frozen stiff wherever carrion creatures had not guttled their cooling flesh straight after the battle. Perhaps sometime later, when the upcoming spring or a spell of warmer weather would melt the snow, they would find their ultimate peace in the bosom of the earth, heather and shrubs sprouting through the empty eye sockets of skulls, their mouldering remains nourishing the desiccate soil... 

Now, however, gales yet wailed outside the stormwalls of the encampment, even if gradually enfeebling. The progress of the war had stalled for the moment here on the southern front partially due to the wrath of the heavens: Temperatures had quickly plunged from their former position around the freezing point down into much harsher depths, accompanied by ireful winds from which the treeless desolation provided no shelter. Everything destitute of proper protection along their path iced over, vegetation and creatures alike. Nature did not differentiate between Alliance inhabitants and Horde soldiers either. Frozen corpses of either allegiance were hauled away from tents and temporary huts each morning, and buried into mass graves outside the camps. 

The Horde, nevertheless, utilized the relative downtime to advance other endeavors. Equipment was trickling in from the Fright Zone, even if the lengthy blizzard had hampered delivery lines both via land and water. Maps were updated as deep-scanning bots able to penetrate the layers of snow, peat, and most strata beneath slowly crawled across the moors further to the south. The ruins of Castle Blackmoor were gradually being leveled for infrastructure supporting mining, apart from some of the more intact buildings appropriated for better shelters. If Hordak and his officers had foreseen the drastic change in the weather, perhaps they would have altered their tactics of conquest. 

The transportation of prisoners to the Fright Zone had however been postponed for the most part. The faltering delivery or transportation lines prioritized vital supplies, and in any event, not enough warm carriages shielded from the elements could be provided for the moment. The Force Captains had sent for larger ships to sail upriver to collect prisoners instead of utilizing inland routes; however a great quantity of seaborne vessels had been reserved for the impending conquest of the Kingdom of Snows. The current ship intended for the purpose and stocked with materiel lay in anchorage by one of the southern island groups, awaiting for the prolonged storm to pass. 

“I think we need to wait for the scanners to at least map the core of the region and do their  prospecting, before we start digging into the soil,” Octavia pointed out from the depths of her massive coat and other layers of clothing. Even though the cockpit remained much warmer than the gelid cruelty reigning outdoors, every exhale left a puff of vapor hanging in the air. Grizzlor however appeared to thrive in the cold, his fur fluffing out and making him appear nearly twice as broad. 

“Hmm. I concur. However, some paltry ground frost shall not obstruct our drills, should this climatic anomaly yet prevail.” 

“My Lord, do we have any weather news from the new spy planted in Bright Moon? Our satellite did detect a polar vortex that might settle over the highlands for a while, but it wasn’t supposed to get this bad. Either the Alliance has hexed us, or someone needs to reprogram that thing.”

“Hrhmpf,” Hordak grunted, all too aware of the prototypal characteristics of the Horde weather satellite and whose handicraft the algorithms within were. “Whilst the jurisdictions of the witches do bathe in milder temperatures, they yet subsist below the freezing point. Therefore, I cannot concur with your estimation. Do recall that the altitude and the barrenness affect us as well.”

“Now...” He turned a page in the folio he had been glancing at every now and then. “Overall, the highlands have been insufficiently charted. When the geophysical prospecting of the ore deposits have been concluded, I daresay we shall extend the scanning to the surrounding areas. I am inquisitive about catches of the First Ones’ technology mayhap reposing beneath the topsoil, and anything else peculiar that might pique my interest.”

Hordak had to admit to himself that his attitude regarding ancient relics had altered during the past year or so. Priorly, he had regarded such items as mere putrefying refuse of yesteryear’s heathens, yet…Entrapta had convinced him elsewise. Oh, archaic the First Ones’ craft might be compared to the superlative engineering of the Galactic Horde, this notion evermore prevalent, now that sheer centuries had evanesced into the void of the past in his universe of origin. Nevertheless...Entrapta had comprehended the significance of re-harnessing powers forgotten, melding ancient concepts with present-day innovations to bring forth the strengths of both.

While moored here amongst snowdrifts and bitter winds, the Warlord had perused the more efficiently encrypted reaches of the Horde network, continuing to listen to the recordings of portal construction sessions and scrutinizing notes on the various First Ones’ symbols. He had begun rudimentary studies into the language itself while constructing the cannon, however the war effort had decelerated his pace. Well...the recordings...attending to Entrapta’s voice and her effervescent, ever-present enthusiasm formed a lump in his throat on every occasion. Yet…if he desired to enlighten himself further, he had to abide with the side effects. His secondary concern with the material related to unearthing motives for her betrayal, however trifling such references might be. That detecting had led only to dead ends so far. 

“Lord Hordak, would you like to review some of the subterranean scans that have objects marked as anomalies?”

“Indeed. Ought anything significant to emerge, we can dispatch a bot equipped with superior precision to that particular location.”

Octavia typed commands to her datapad, and one of the larger screens began to display geophysical scans of the subterranean layers. The algorithms responsible for surveying the data had conveniently highlighted any irregularities. Grainy images began to shift to other blurry views of cross-sections of stratum and subsoil, yet nothing of particular value appeared to emerge. Most of the anomalies looked like bones, sunken segments of flagged roads, or something related to the burial mounds and the occasional standing stones peppering the moors. At one point, something huge and angular caught Hordak’s attention, and Octavia made a note of the coordinates. 

However, after a longer stretch of quiet visual perlustrating, the Warlord’s concentration began to roam. It soon ambled back to the topic of combining the First Ones’ technology with that of the Etherian Horde. Hmm, he indeed would be able to devise rather cunning alterations to his destroyer bots, if he mastered the First Ones’ technology beyond the rudimentary level of being capable of reverse-engineering some of the electricity-generating features. For instance, Entrapta had mentioned colossal, wormlike robots defending some of the temples, still operational after a millennium of slumber. If he might...well. That shed new light to the indispensableness of delving deeper into the language: the relics most likely inclosed fragments of routines and algorithms crafted in a high-level code. Oh, some or all of it might have degraded over the centuries, yet if he could formulate an extraction method for hardcode, and concurrently accelerate his studies into the finesses of the language... 

The barrage of grainy images seemed to draw to a close, and Octavia terminated the running of the application crawling through the prospecting database. Grizzlor stretched and yawned, and ambled over to the kitchenette. The moment seemed to call for a little respite. 

The Warlord turned absently another page in the folio before him, and stared at the etchings and lines of text without absorbing any of their significance. Indeed…perchance the looming conundrum of conquering or infiltrating the Whispering Woods and the demesnes beneath the auspice of the...floricultural Princess might be resolved with...hmm…something a little more visionary incorporating the First Ones’ engineering. Perhaps he could tear a leaf from Plumeria’s book of vegetal warfare and branch out to plant-mimicking warbots, rather than sacrificing his troops into those accursed, sorcery-riddled depths of the forest. Setting the woods aflame would merely alert the witches in advance, and such a prodigious segment of Etheria would scarcely be turned into ashes in a few days either...

As much as Shadow Weaver and his studies into the Etherian geography had enlightened him about the eldritch attributes of that tract of land, some of the independently moving, sentient trees growing further in were able to detect the intentions of intruders, among other perils. They would surreptitiously shift the course of existing paths to lead nowhere, surrounding the trespassers from every side, saturating the air with suffocating pollen. When those led astray had fallen unconscious or had elsewise been incapacitated, the trees would gobble them, ravines opening into their trunks akin to jagged maws with rough splinters of bark for teeth. Not much remained to moulder among the foliage thereafter, as bone and flesh alike were hewn into soggy pulp and ingested into the depths of the trunks. 

Merely a scant few had ever managed to flee such an assailing to tell the tale, often perishing hideously mangled mere hours after their rescue or escape. Hence...mayhap a strategy of a diverse ilk was indeed required; he doubted those bloody carnivorous perennials could detect any predetermined purpose in mechanical structures containing only insensate neural networks. The bots mimicking trees and flowers and other foliage could ambulate onwards with aerial roots; hah, in sooth, some of the artificial vines might even tackle the miles by slithering around actual tree trunks and along conjoined branches. Thus, they could guilefully approach the towns and villages flanking or extending into the forest. Whenever some sordid speck of a heathen roaming among the vegetation would glance about, the ingenious creations would cease their motions and burst into innocent-seeming blooms. 

A small portion of Hordak’s mind was aware of him nodding to something Octavia was explaining. However, he had scarcely taken in any of her delivery, while his focus kept dwelling in the intriguing warcraft concept. 

Ah, and when the mantle of night descended, the bots would emerge from the woods and surround the targeted habitats. Branches would transform into cannons, fruit borne upon them reveal themselves as deadly missiles. Ultra-sharp leaves would extend to cut through almost anything, while the pistils of flowers shot laser beams; cunningly devised shrubs might discharge steel-tipped thorns. Should the marching army of flowers amid the various other specimens chance upon fortifications, they could belch forth puffs of corrosive pollen to dissolve stone and wood. And...whoever survived the attack would rush straight into the waiting embrace of the Horde ambushing somewhere further to the east, outside the vigilance of the Princesses. 

Unwittingly, Hordak’s mouth quirked into a lopsided, lewd smirk, his eyes narrowing into hungry slits, as his mind wove the narrative onwards. Oh indeed, after enough towns and villages had been devastated, the Princesses would arrive, Entrapta amongst the enemy ranks. Ohhh, he would have constructed a... _ special _ plant-bot merely for  _ her _ , non-weaponized yet ready for both imprisonment and pleasure. That would prove the wanton seductress his utmost supremacy over the First Ones’ engineering and language, peradventure rendering him  _ more _ technologically sophisticated than her! Oh, that would turn her moist indeed! 

Seductress… Well...he might have been in part culpable of her leave-taking, yet she never had permitted him to vouch for his good intentions when they had contended over the portal. Hence, a temptress she remained, albeit a sweet, irresistible one whom he loved, until proven otherwise. 

Once again, after either having forced the other witches to flee or simply having blasted them into motes, the Princess of Dryl would stare at him haughtily and goad him to establish his mastery whilst she stood before him, ensnared by the supple vines of the plant-bot wrapping about her arms and legs. 

Oh, he would whisper to her not to fret, and tell her that he would demonstrate  _ to the utmost _ what would bechance to treacherous little nymphs in the clasp of  _ Lord _ Hordak… More soft vines would wrap around her midriff, and they would elevate her to the level of his chest. Once any hindering garments had been disposed of, the vines would keep her legs spread for him. As his thumbs opened her sweet petals, his tongue would commence fondling the little hooded pearl within. Oh, he would dwell for ages in that little glade of lavender and sweet nectar, his tongue exploring her slowly whilst the soft tendrils of the plant-bot stroked her breasts and pulled on her nipples, making her moan and squirm in ecstasy in mid-air. Mmmh, mayhap the vines might even sport dewy leaves that could in their own fashion lick those delectable hillocks upon her curvaceous landscape...

After ensuring that she had become nigh lackadaisical from oh-so-many climaxes, he would pull out the artificial shaft incorporating the First Ones’ technology, slide it around one of his fingers, and sink it to the very hilt into her slick heat. Slowly, very slowly, the girth would expand, stretching her, preparing her tight core for his mighty member. 

Oh, but what would her precious Alliance Princesses deem of her now, he would inquire of her as she mewled and begged him to enter her after he had pulled the artificial shaft out, teasing her by delaying the very act on purpose. Submitting  _ so readily _ to him and beseeching him thus…as if her very life depended on him ramming hard into her.

Hordak chuckled throatily to himself. Oh, his rather insolent, low rumblings would arouse her so thoroughly, his lips pressed to her ear, his wriggling shaft tantalizing her further by rubbing against her soaked opening, yet not quite plunging-

“Lord Hordak?” Grizzlor’s loud query ultimately broke the spell of Hordak’s imagination.

To his mild horror, the Warlord found a lascivious grin stretching his mouth almost from ear to ear, in addition to other symptoms highly unsuited to the presence of his Force Captains. Quickly, he scrunched up his brow, and forced his countenance to adopt a hard aspect reminiscent of a rough-hewn block of stone. However did that  Princess induce such daydreams in him now even in the immediate proximity of others? Blood and damnation, this was worsening without intermission of a day; her provocative bearing taunting him wherever he sought to roam! Not to mention the increasing unruliness of his fantasies... Whatever harebrained clump of neurons had concocted the idea of that pleasuring bot in the first place?

“Force Captain. I was deliberating hypothetical schematics for new... _ tactical bots _ with which subjugating the Princess...es would prove effortless. The First Ones’ technology and other relics recovered either here or in the arctic zones might prove integral in their design. However, do proceed to repeat the previous-”

At that moment, Hordak’s gaze brushed over the open folio spread, and he finally perceived the actual content displayed thereupon. Perhaps under some other circumstances, he might have nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight. Yet some discipline etched deep into his backbone, now alert after his inane loss of composure, kept his visage impassive enough not to make the Force Captains doubt his sanity. However, he stared dumbfounded at the detailed lines forming an illustration of a bleak moorland vista in sepia and shades of gray. Standing stones, tilted and some of them broken, rose up from the scrub, seeming to form rows, or mayhap concentric circles on a larger scale. In the very middle, arched a vast burial mound. Plants and lichens had gained the upper hand of the structure, yet some cardinal elements were still visible either due to sentient intervention or by some quirk of nature: a dark entranceway consisting of vertical stone slabs and a slightly canted lintel stone balanced upon them, a few rectangular kerbstones rising out of the peat at the roots of the barrow…

It was...the very structure from his dreams, where he kept encountering the bristling shadow-being. Oh, those nightmares had never dissipated during the fortnight, yet had not germinated into anything more baleful either. The mass of fangs and claws kept morphing into the semblance of Lord Prime again and again, tempting Hordak with the offer of utter oblivion. 

Nevertheless...that ominous site...was it in sooth  _ real _ ? The sheer notion made cold shivers snake down his spine. What accursed sorcery of the Alliance witches had whelmed him? Or did this pertain to their bloody machinations at all? 

Dispelling now images of undulating darkness from his awareness, instead of the splendiferous culmination of Entrapta’s pleasure, Hordak lifted up the folio for both adjutants to behold. At any rate, both had been craning their necks to see what had disrupted his statement.

“Prey tell, what wisdom do you possess about this?” 

“It’s...well, one of those burial mounds you see hereabouts, although much bigger than the ones we’ve seen,” Grizzlor supplied. “Hmh. Think there was a small mound with rocks like that surrounding it a few days’ march to the south from here.”

“Indeed. I daresay my enquiry refers to information not contained in the paragraphs surrounding the illustration,” Hordak responded dryly.

Octavia’s visage held a  sharper expression, as though she had borne greater insight into the intricacies of the subject. Massaging one temple with a finger, she muttered, “That bloody author should’ve put a name or a location underneath it, and not just some shit about ancient remains. I...I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I might’ve seen that one or something similar as a kid. Must’ve been...hmh, forty years ago. Lived on the southern coast back then, and...think we traveled to Dryl along one of the older ways. The elderly Queen still ruled back then. Can’t remember what business my parents had there, but that’s not the point. This mound was somewhere along the road.”

Hordak compelled his visage to remain impassive, yet he could scarcely becalm his racing heart and the cold sweat threatening to bead upon his skin. What- What  _ was _ befalling to him during the nights? Granted, he had not observed new scrapes upon his skin since the battle of Castle Blackmoor, yet...did he vision of a genuine location he had heretofore never visited? This should not come to pass, he-

“Does it interest you, Lord Hordak? Can’t be of any strategic use in the war, but...I might be able to locate the old road on a map. If I  _ can _ recall one fucking thing about the route.” 

The Warlord could not clothe his thoughts into proper words, so he merely nodded. Furthermore, some new notion about the nightmares stirred in the back of his mind. What had that been…

That was...ah, a peculiar superimposition of a diverse kind of structure he had espied a few times since the vividest vision. Something gigantic and lozengelike melded with one of the major orthostats outside the barrow, or sometimes within, poised against the backdrop of wraiths. In that infinite space of the barrow’s central chamber, the bleary outline of a narrow bridge seemed to lead to this...additional standing stone or a construction alike in shape. As much as the nocturnal events allowed harking back to them, the overlay seemed different somehow compared to the rest of the burial complex; more reminiscent of…

Well. Hordak could not quite place a keen claw on it, yet something in the hazy details of the new element reminded him of the First Ones’ technology. The interior of the passage leading into the barrow’s central chamber was surrealistically decorated with similar shapes here and there, yet…there the similarities ended. 

Finally something coherent slid forth from his mouth. “I would hazard to guess that this...hmh...mausoleum would not represent an unsung instance of a First Ones’ temple?” 

“I don’t really know much about them. The First  Ones , I mean.” Hordak could decrypt the statement left unsaid in Octavia’s gaze.  _ However, the one who  _ would know _ is not present.  _ “There are some...stories, legends, whatever you’d call them...obscure things about a people that lived in the highlands before the First Ones arrived. They’re mostly stuff for children these days…tales about a fey folk that inhabited these posh halls of light and shadow. Obviously crap as these ‘halls’ are for burying the dead, but…” 

She ran a hand through her long hair, her frown aimed at the ceiling as she attempted to coax old, hoary memories to enter the present day. “Then, there was something about the standing stones being...mmh...gates to where the fey folk came from. Or where they eventually vanished just before the First Ones arrived. Would need a book to refresh my memories.” Irritated, she tapped her datapad. “Fuck, where am I going to find a decent map now or anything else for that matter? So much just got burnt to ashes when old King Scorpio...well. My Lord, what do we have converted into datapad-readable format in the network? I know for certain there won’t be anything helpful on those maps spread on the floor.”

_ Halls of light and shadow _ … Hordak could not help scrutinizing the illustration anew, as if to ascertain he verily had dreamt about this ruin. Well, well.

“Hmh. I have not succeeded in converting everything thus far, hence the hardcopies I procured for the journey. I have more sequestered away in my premises, and shall give you leave to peruse them. Per my injunction, you shall locate this edifice by attentively considering maps and thereafter performing aerial scans upon a promising batch of terrain.”

“My Lord, is this vital to the proceedings of the war? I’ll need to put aside a lot of time for this, and need to redelegate more things to my Acting Captains.”

Hordak scowled, carefully selecting his words after the idiotic display of absent daydreaming moments ago. The last thing he needed now was to appear akin to some irrational buffoon before his adjutants. He could only speculate upon the implications of his reveries being tied to an actual physical location, yet if it all conjoined with his sanity and aspirations, then it  _ did _ affect the political and wartime tapestry of the planet. 

“It might indeed seem akin to an idle deviation, yet I dissent. I deem it imperative to inspect this edifice in situ. Therewith, if it lies not far from Dryl, that does befit my plans splendidly, as I must pay that district of the dominion a visit as well. I shall equip you with the wherewith requisite to accomplish this task. Now...I would perforce venture deeper into the...lore associated with such megaliths. You were referring to something mentioning  _ halls of light and shadow _ ?”

Octavia’s brows rose. “I… My Lord, I’m not an antiquarian or a scholar. Just someone who lived close to the southern edge of the moors as a kid. It’s a legend, and...well, some told of weird whatsits happening around some of the ruins during moon alignments. I don’t know, perhaps it refers to moonlight? To be frank, a lot of the natives of the coast were a bit scared of the bloody ruins. Apart from the poor conditions for grazing and planting crops, I think the reputation of whatever lived there ages ago has kept people at bay. And...well, I remember now that we kids wanted to have a closer look at this mound when we traveled past it, but my parents forbade us to go anywhere near and told us to hurry on instead. Then again, I think it was a lonely, wild landscape along the road, and they might’ve had valid concerns about waylayers or the like.”

Moon alignments...so the damned burial mounds were intrinsically connected to the magic of this dump. If Shadow Weaver had still had occupied a position amongst his ranks, he would not have wallowed in such unbearable ignorance of witchcrafty matters. Hmh. Then again, if unaccounted magic slumbered beneath the peat, undetectable by his scanners, that might challenge his mining plans- 

It seemed that the day had not quite yet ceased sending disruptions to Hordak’s direction. As he was about to reach out for a stack of hardcopies containing potential maps or a smidgen of alleviation to the nagging questions, Imp emerged from some unnoted aperture and landed on his shoulder. The demon-esque creature however chittered frenetically, his tiny brows knit together and needlepoint fangs bared. Hordak tilted his questioning countenance towards Imp, and raised a hand to becalm the clone. Tickling Imp beneath the chin afforded no results; on the contrary, he dug his claws into the fabric of the Warlord’s cloak, one pudgy arm pointing at the general direction of the camp. 

“Shush, little thing. What is this you uncovered? Bequeath it unto me.”

Imp opened his tiny hand and dropped something upon Hordak’s open palm. His eyes narrowed at the insignificant object: a minuscule metallic button caked in dirt on one side, and wet from melting snow. He flicked an askance, enquiring glance at the clone, who appeared to roll his pupilless eyes at the obliviousness of his father-figure. Hordak rotated the button between two of his claws. Ultimately, his brow ridges rose in recognition, as he descried the pattern upon the flat surface. A little shiver pertaining to neither eldritch burial mounds nor ghostly visions coursed down his spine.

A star in the middle of a cogwheel...the insignia of Dryl. Such buttons had secured the waistline of Entrapta’s coveralls. Had he not, more or less intentionally, sliced some of them off during intimate moments, and later collected them from the floor of the Sanctum? 

“Where did you locate this?” he hissed, all other important subjects being squeezed away from his awareness, as the presence of Princess Entrapta abruptly filled it to the very brim. Imp screeched, gesticulating at the Warlord to pursue him.

“What’s that, my Lord?” Grizzlor wondered, one brow cocked. 

Hordak elevated his hand, the diminutive object pinched between his massive thumb and forefinger. “An article of Princess Entrapta’s raiment, discovered here within the camp. Make haste; we shall move with celerity to reconnoiter the site of discovery.”

A while later, a severe Imp led the trio through the encampment and the piercing gusts of wind that found their way in despite the high stormwalls erected over the parapets. The sky spat down the occasional flurry of snow, leaden clouds obscuring the heavens. Hordak’s mind was a roiling whirlpool of questions, anger, budding lust and thrill, all of it spiced with a soupcon of hope. He stomped onwards, heart lurching, grabbling at the import of this minuscule yet stirring uncovery. Had the Princess infiltrated the camp by some devious maneuver, and was perchance sabotaging his technology in the guise of a Horde soldier? Shadow Weaver or another one of the more adept witches might have spun an illusion that concealed Entrapta’s remarkable hair and planted a new visage upon her real one.

Hordak’s eyes narrowed further, as Imp led them out through the southern gate and towards the storage marquees laden with empty crates, cages unsuited for transportation due to the weather, and other miscellanea requiring no strict guarding. A shivering sentry huddled close to a small, guttering fire, a parka thrown over their armor. The distinctive fragrance of burning peat wafted in the air, tickling Hordak’s nostrils. The person saluted him from the depths of their garments, and Imp guided the Warlord and the officers into one of the storage units open to the elements. The creature swerved in the air, and alighted upon a small, empty cage that had keeled over to one side. He motioned and chittered at the crude structure beneath his tiny, squatting form. Behind, in the shadows of the marquee, loomed similar yet more voluminous containers. 

Hordak knelt by the cage and peered in. The hatch was ajar, and the filth coating the bottom now laying on one side had frozen solid. Probably during unloading, some scraps from within had dropped onto the trampled ground. The latter had remained comparatively smooth thanks to the canvas and the storm shield thrown over it having barred the worst assaults of rain before the blizzard. Now, wind had however driven in snow and partially coated the cage, yet…

Just within, in the frozen ground, the Warlord could detect a hole matching the shape of the button. 

What in bloody damnation had come to pass? 

Immediately his regard whipped to evaluate the surroundings for any cues that might lurk in the gloom: familiar bootprints, mayhap a second button, a tuft of lavender hair stuck somewhere… Yet his brief gauging uncovered nothing; marks left by the standard Horde gear peppered the floor, left behind by multiple soldiers unloading or piling cargo.

“I bid you to enlighten me on the function of these conveyances. Imp dislodged the implement for fastening raiment from that aperture over there. Whence do these originate?” Hordak inquired his companions, who had both crouched down to investigate the floor as well.

“Prisoner transport cages,” Grizzlor supplied. “They’re from the Fright Zone; I was partially supervising some of the re-equipping weeks ago. But when this particular lot was hauled in...can’t say yet. I’ll look into the logs. We’ve got codes on each of these, so we can track them. That one, though...” He indicated the one under inspection. “Think that’s for livestock. It’s too cramped for detaining a prisoner for several days.”

“And, prey tell, wherefore would something previously adhering to Princess Entrapta recumb in such a location?”

“Don’t know,” Octavia muttered. “Could’ve been dropped there whenever. Maybe the cage fell over it.”

“Hmmh. Be as it may, I hereby command the entire camp to be sieved through for any manifest signs of Princess Entrapta or other intruders, and the sentries responsible for these grounds subjected to thorough interrogation. Countermining or infecting our networks with viral code may have been attempted; every scanner and detector must be activated anon! Never underreckon her craftiness! Something else may have deviously slipped through our- What the bloody-?” Hordak groused about the interruption of his alerting datapad. He slipped a hand into a capacious cloak pocket, and rummaged within. That distinct signal, a particularly exasperating jangly tune, pertained to the communications channel utilized by Force Captain Catra... 

He straightened up, and unlocked the device. Hmh. Not a straightforward call awaiting him, nevertheless messages denoted with the emblems of the utmost precedence, perhaps betokening intelligence from the spy…

His gaze tracked the lines written in the uncouth manner of the young Force Captain, fraught with senseless abbreviations and an overabundance of punctuation, some of which attempted to form crude visages. However, as he ingested the full meaning of the messages, a wide, raptorial grin spread upon his face, and a sudden, ferocious surge of excitement coursed through his every vein and artery. Octavia’s mien expressed sheer astonishment at the ravenous chuckling beginning to spill from his throat.

Oh, this shed illumination into the mysteries hovering about the Princess, indeed; the snide infiltration into the camp, perhaps the heretofore protracted silence as well...

“Oh, splendid…” he drawled. “Tidings from our spy in Bright Moon...the Alliance will attempt to revindicate Dryl. How quaint.” 

Oh, he would  _ finally _ encounter Entrapta upon the battlefield. 

Almost on a subliminal level, something else within him lifted its head and smirked. However, that was not due to the prospect of meeting the Princess. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know if you spot any inconsistencies, and I’d love to hear how the story is holding together as well! I love all the feedback, and it spurs on my inspiration to keep writing.


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